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ew yea: 




Illustrated Magazine 

For Girls and Boys, 




November, 1879, to November, 1880. 


— « 

Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co. 

Press of Francis Hart & Co. 

library, Univ. »f 
North Curo'ilna 




Six Months — November, 1879, to May, 1880. 



Aeram Morrison. Poem , John Greenlcaf Whittier 129 

Adrift on the Ocean. (Illustrated by Granville Perkins) Frank H. Converse 3 

Adventure on an Egg-Var. An (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Mrs. C. A. Stephens . . 441 

American King David. An J T. Trcnvbridge 109 

Among the Lakes. (Illustrated by W. Taber) William O. Stoddard . . 44, 138 

258, 340, 413, 499 

Arbor \nx. OR Not ? Ella A. Drinkwater 11 

"Around A Dusty Little Room." Jingle. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott). Margaret Johnson 303 

Audiphone. The (Illustrated) Aunt Fanny 313 

Automata. Some Wonderful Fanny Roper Feudge 333 

Babie Stuart. (Illustrated) Agnes Elizabeth Thomson. 376 

Beginning. A (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) Sarah Winter Kellogg: 131 

Bell-Buoy. The (Illustrated by the Author) Mrs. B. L. Merrill 469 

Bidding the Sun " Good-Night " in Lapland. Poem. (.Illustrated). . .Joy Allison 204 

Blodget's Orders George Klingle 253 

Bobbing for Apples. Picture. Drawn by Frank Beard 308 

Bo-peep's Sheep were Found. How (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Geo. J. Varney 477 

Boy-heroes of Crecy and Poitiers. The (Illustrated by Fredericks) . . Treadzoell Walden 64 

Boys at Chiron's School. The (Illustrated by F. S. Church) Evelyn Miiller 40 

Boys' Own Phonograph. The (.Illustrated by Daniel C. Beard) John Lewees 235 

Boy's Remonstrance. A Poem Carlotta Perry 43 

Budsy, the Giant. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) J. W. De Forest 103 

Burial at Sea. A (Illustrated) 498 

Buttercup Gold Laura E. Richards 361 

Caoutchouc in Nicaragua. Gathering (Illustrated by R. Riordan) E. P. Lull 379 

Catcher Caught. The Pictures 218 

Childhood's Gold. Poem Lucy Larcom 463 

Children's Claim. The (Illustrated by the Author) Mary Hallock Foote 238 

Children's Tally-Ho. The (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) .S. W. Hallock 339 

Child-Songs. The City Child. Minnie and Winnie Alfred Tennyson 281 

349, 42S, 430 

Chiron's School. The Boys at (Illustrated by F. S. Church) Evelyn Miiller 40 

Christmas at Number One, Crawlin Place : Sargent Flint ,114 

Christmas is Coming ! Picture 1 1 1 

Christmas Star. The Picture 102 

Chronicles of the Molbos. (Illustrated by Frank Beard) 180 

Chy Lung, the .Chinese Fisherman. (Illustrated by W. F. Brown) Fanny M. Osborne 396 

City Boys. Disadvantages of Washington Gladden 405 

N") Cloud-land. Poem Mary N. Prescott 69 

O " Consider Now a Painter-man." Jingle Joel Stacy 108 

<-" Country School-house. The Poem M. £. Bennett 55 

W Crocus. Poem Celia Thaxter 376 

(P " Daffy-Down-Dilly." Verses Susan Hartley 482 

— Daisy's Mistake. (Illustrated) E. McKean Ely . 299 


Dauphin. The Last (Illustrated) Alice D. Wilde 51 

Dead City. A (Illustrated) Margaret Bertha Wright. . 458 

"Dear Little Deer." The (Illustrated by Daniel C. Beard) Olive Thome Miller... . '. . 471 

Disadvantages of City Boys. The Washington Gladden 405 

Dolls' Baby Show. The (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) B. M. B 199 

Dolls Broke the Law. How Some Sarah Whiter Kellogg 1 

DRESSING Mary Ann. Jingle. (Illustrated by Addie Ledyard) M. M. D 167 

Dropped Stitch. That Verses. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) R. S. T. 8 

Easter Card. An Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 469 

Easter in Rome. (Illustrated) Lillian Gilbert Browne 480 

Editha's Burglar. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Frances Hodgson Burnett. . 326 

Elephants Turned Back. How The (Illustrated by Gustave Dore) John Lewees 129 

Fables. ( Illustrated by the Author) Howard Pyle 98 

Faithful Friend. A (Illustrated by Hermann Faber) John V. Sears. 304 

Family with whom Everything went Wrong. The (Illustrated) Mary Mapcs Dodge 32 

Fan. My " Sun-flower's" (Illustrated) Emma Bryan 125 

Fancy Work. A Few Pretty Things in (Illustrated by H. W. Troy) Eliza Howe 70 

Farmer Who Became Drum-Major. The Verses. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 456 

Four Sunbeams. The Poem. (Illustrated by Frederick Dielman) M. K. B 117 

Funny Mandarin. The (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 1 72 

Game of Kite-Cutting. The (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson) F. D. Clarke 490 

Gathering Caoutchouc in Nicaragua. (Illustrated by R. Riordan) E. P. Lull. 379 

Getting Acquainted. Picture. Drawn by C. A. Northam 446 

Giotto: The Shepherd-boy of Vespignano. (Illustrated.) 4gnes Elizabeth Thomson . . 224 

Great Race. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. E. Throop 96 

Gudra's Daughter. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 56 

Happy Bud. The Poem. (Illustrated) Eudora May Stone 445 

Hearing Without Ears. (Illustrated) Aunt Fanny 313 

How Bo-peep's Sheep were Found. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Geo. J. Vamey 477 

How Cruel is Fate ! Verses Margaret Vandegrift 159 

How Hal Went Home. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Louise Stockton 228 

How Joe Brought Down the House Marion Conant 1 70 

How Johnny Amused the Baby. Picture. Drawn by : H. R. Poore 498 

How some Dolls Broke the Law Sarah Winter Kellogg 1 

How to Entertain a Guest Susan Anna Brown 309 

H YLAS. The Poem Celia Thaxter 315 

"I Know a Little Maiden." Jingle. (Illustrated) Mary Mapes Dodge 23 

Ino AND UNO. Verses Josephine Pollard 227 

Irene and the Yesterdays. (Illustrated) "Raja" 24 

"It 'S such work to go up,-up,-up!" J Pictures, by H. Stull \ V} 

" But such fun to go down, — down, — down ! " ) ( 379 

" I wish I knew my letters well." Jingle M. M. D 95 

Jack and Jill. (Illustrated by Frederick Dielman) Louisa M. Alcott 89 

205, 282, 385, 446 

Jack-Rabbits. Hunting (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) A Boy 34 

Japanese Top-Spinning. (Illustrated by R. Blum) J. Reed Sever 198 

Jingles 23, 95, 108, 127, 167, 238, 303, 333, 336 

Kite-cutting. The Game of (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson) F. D. Clarke 490 

Kite Time. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 421 

Kitty's Mother. (Illustrated by the Author) A. G. Plympttm 483 

Knight and the Page. The (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) Martha C. Howe 99 

Knotty Subject. A (Illustrated) Charles L. Norton 300 

Land of Short Memories. The S. 5. £olt 217 

Lazy Pussy. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 369 

Legend of Harvest. A Poem Edgar Fawcett 30 

Legend of the Ground-Hog. The Poem. (Illustrated by the Author). William M. Pegram 411 

Little First Man and Woman. The (Illustrated by the Author) William M. Cary 134 


Little Peasant. The Poem. (Illustrated) R. S. Chilton 420 

Little Runaway. The Poem. (Illustrated by Frederick Dielman) Julia C. R. Dorr 62 

Longitude One Hundred and Eighty. (Illustrated) John Keiler 366 

Major's Big-Talk Stories. The I. A Vacillating Bear. (Illustrated by )_ p g^ e Crofton 476 

Miss S. A. Rankin) S 

Mary Elizabeth Elizabeth Stuart Phelps . . 316 

Master Treborius. Nonsense Verse. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) W. M. Bicknell 333 

Mrs. McGlinty's Pigs. (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr. ) Miriam Alden . . 20 

Muscadines in Mississippi. Gathering (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) ... Winnie Weston 28 

Molbos. Chronicles of The (Illustrated by Frank Beard) 180 

Mother Goose and her Family. A Christmas Recreation. (Illustrated?^,, , ~ , , 

by Allegra Eggleston ) ' 

Mystery of the Seed. The Poem. (Illustrated) .Lucy Larcom , . . 150 

Music. A Strange (Illustrated) Louis C. Elson 246 

Napoleon and the Young Egyptian. Translated from the German °^\r / T A n>d<r 86 

W. Hauff. (Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart) 

Naughty Boy. A (Illustrated by Abbott H. Thayer) Bessie Hill 404 

Only Child. An Picture ." '....." 340 

Otter. Watching for an (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Maurice Thompson in 

Out at Sea. (Illustrated) Paul Fort 336 

Paul and the Goblin. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) J. Esten Cooke 119 

Pegasus. The Story of (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) M. C 144 

Pensive Cricket. The Verses. (Illustrated by Miss H. A. Daley) Joel Stacy 13 

Phonograph. The Boys' Own (Illustrated by Daniel C. Beard) John Lewees 235 

Picture with a Moral for Boys and Dogs. A Drawn by J. G. Francis 325 

Playthings. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) Olive Thorne Miller 14 

Plums. (Illustrated) Paul Fort 233 

Pompeii — A Dead City. (Illustrated) ' Margaret Bertha Wright . . . 458 

Popping Corn. Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Kappes) Jennie E. T. Dowe 223 

Practical Fairy. The Charles Barnard 219 

Prairie Squirrels. (Illustrated by William H. Gibson) ' Mary P. Thacher '....:... 290 

Proud Little Grain of Wheat. The Frances Hodgs n Burnett. . . 193 

Quite a History. Verses Arlo Bates 348 

Raven Uncle. The (Illustrated) 322 

Relay in the Desert. The (Illustrated) '. R. CM. 232 

Riding on the Rail. Verses. (Illustrated by R. Sayer) H. F. King 395 

Saved from Siberia. (Illustrated by J. Harrison Mills and J. E. Kelly).. A. A. Hayes, Jr 292 

Seed, the Mystery of the. Poem. (Illustrated) Lucy Larcom 150 

Seeing is Believing. Jingle. (Illustrated by Miss Kate Greenaway) Joel Stacy 336 

Shepherd-boy of Vespignano. The (Illustrated) Agnes Elizabeth Thomson. . . 224 

SlLK CULTURE. Origin of (Illustrated) Emma Bryan 125 

Sleeping Princess. The Operetta. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell). John V. Sears 267 

Snow-Ball Warfare. (Illustrated by the Author) , .Daniel C. Beard . 263 

Snow-Flakes. Poem : Ma->y N. Prescott . . , ._ 396 

Snow-Sports for Girls and Boys. (Illustrated by Daniel C. Beard). .. .Samuel Van Brunt 320 

Some New Books for Young People " 188 

Sow, Sew, and So. Verses Rosa Graham 1.". " 246 

Sprig of Holly. The (Illustrated) .Frank R. Stockton 255 

Spring Time. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) ......... '.Mary Gordon . . 474 

St. George and the Dragon. (Illustrated by Alfred Fredericks) Mrs. E. W. Latimer 494 

St. Martin's Eve. (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr) Anna Eichberg :_. ; 74 

Story to be Written by the Boys and Girls. A Picture, by F. B. Mayer ; ..... . 316 

Strange Adventures of a Wood-sled. The (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr. ) Washington Gladden 160 

Strange Music. A (Illustrated) Louis C. Elson 246 

Swan Song. The (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr.) Katharine Ritter Brooks. 363 

Tea-Kettle Light. The (Illustrated by A. C. Redwood) Flora A. Sanborn 370 

Telegraph-Boys. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren, W. Taber, and W. M. Cary). W. A. Linn 151 


Thanksgiving. Getting Ready for (Illustrated by W. M. Cary) M. E. Winslmv 37 

" There was an old man of Cathay." Verse. (Illustrated by H.W. Peirce) ..Frederic Palmer 238 

"There was a young lady of Brooking." Verse. (Illustratedby H.W.Pehce). Frederic Palmer 238 

Thorvaldsen. (Illustrated) A. P. C 174 

Three Copecks. The (Illustrated by Ivan Pranishnickoff) Paul H. Hayne 214 

Time Will Tell. Picture. Drawn by Isaac Porter, Jr. 254 

Two " Allies." (Illustrated by the Author) Edwin C. Taylor 10 

Watching for an Otter. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) . . . ! Maurice Thompson ill 

Ways of Cutting Oranges and Apples. (Illustrated by the Author) H. IV. Troy 276 

What Happened to Janan. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) M. A. Adgate 464 

Why Patty Spoke in Church. (Illustrated by Frederick Dielman) Joel Stacy 3r2 

Winter. Picture 292 

WooD-SLED. The Strange Adventures of A (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr.). Washington Gladden 160 



Introduction — A Mouse that Eats Flies — A Two-story Nest — A Bird that Cries "Pa, Pa!" — Bathing 
Baby Elephants — A Colony of Muskrats (illustrated) — Wells of Artois, 82; Introduction — The Coldest Cold 
— Catching Larks with Sunlight — A Letter from a School-ma'am — A Lake Roofed with Salt — The Christmas 
Sheaf (illustrated) — Lighting a Fire with Ice— A Queer Importation — A Live Elevator, 186; Introduction — 
Mineral Wax — What Plants Breathe Out — Sleeve-stoves — Sea-silk — Cooked by Cold — Champion Walkers 
and Jumpers — The Gungaboo and the Turtaloo (illustrated) — Snow-spectacles — A Hint from Deacon Green, 
274; Introduction — Red Snow out West — A Thick Covering — The Real American Eye — Taking Care of the 
Rats — Mules that " Coast " — A Deadly Ring — Another " House Beautiful " (illustrated) — Animals that 
Never Drink Water, 354; Introduction — The Day-fly — Whistling Buoys — Pigeons that help Doctors — Red 
Rain — Kedrevnik — Sea Robins (illustrated) — Some Pretty " How d'ye do's?" — Flowering without its Root, 
434; Introduction — "No More Truants" — Beavers Coasting — Houses on the Roof — Have Insects Hearts? 
— Well-behaved Swallows — A Water-worm that Builds a House (illustrated) — Brunei's Most Important Job 
— A Cat Telegraph, 514. 

For Very Little Folk. 

How Kit Saw the Show, 77— Bird-Pictures by Giacomelli, with verses, 182 — Trot, Dot and Bunny, 272 — 
Illustrated Alphabet, 350 — Goats with Long Hair ; Baby's Journey, 431 — Ned's Stilts ; Naughty Jack, 512. 

Frontispieces. — "Grandmother," facing Title-page of Volume — "Little Louis, the Dauphin," facing page 1 — 
Making Mamma's Christmas Present, 89 — " The Beggars are Coming to Town," 193 — The Princes in the 
Tower, 281 — The Little Peasant, 361 — A Burial at Sea, 441. 

Young Contributors' Department. Miss Moffat's Dream (Illustrated) 436 

The Letter-Box 84, 188, 276, 356, 436, 517 

The Riddle-Box 86, 190, 278, 359, 439, 519 

Our Music Page. 

The City Child. (Alfred Tennyson) Mrs. Alfred Tennyson . 349, 430 

Minnie and Winnie. (Alfred Tennyson) Mrs. Alfred Tennyson 428 

Bye, Baby, Bye ! (Mary Mapes Dodge) Hubert P. Main. 516 


Mother Goose and her Family. A Christmas Recreation. (Illustrated \ Fd war d Ep-p-leston id.6 

by Allegra Eggleston ) > 

Sleeping Princess. The Operetta. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) John V. Sears 267 

[See page 51, J 


Vol. VII. 

NOVEMBER, 1879. 

No. 1. 

[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.] 

By Sarah Winter Kellogg. 

At William Hackett's dingy, cramped quarters 
in London, there were three very busy people. 
These were Mrs. Hackett, Miss Hackett, and 
Master Hackett. They were working upstairs in 
an attic room, sitting about a table on which there 
were dolls, doll-heads, doll-bodies. All about the 
room were boxes of dolls, undressed, except for 
those inevitable little paper-cambric slips which 
seem to embody the only inalienable right that 
dolls have in this world. There were red-haired 
dolls, black-haired dolls, golden-haired dolls, no- 
haired dolls, — every description of the genus, per- 
haps, except the china doll. 

Were the Hacketts — Mrs., Miss and Master — 
dressing dolls to help out belated Santa Claus? 
No. Were they making dolls ? Again, no. They 
were unmaking the creatures. It would have made 
any little girl's blood run cold to stand by and 
witness the slaughter. 

First, the lovely dears were beheaded. Then 
they were ripped open about where their clavicles 
would have been if the doll-makers had n't left the 
clavicles out of the darlings. When they were all 
ripped, and gaping in a ghastly way from shoulder 
to shoulder, they were emptied of what would have 
been their vital organs if it had n't been sawdust. 
Then the heads and bodies were stuffed like 
Thanksgiving turkey, not, however, with oysters or 
curry force-meat, but with costly laces, — laces fit to 
adorn a duchess. 

Mr. William Hackett was going to emigrate to 
America. No; he was n't going to colonize with 
the little deaf and dumb men and women. He was 
going to open a toy-shop and a lace-shop in the 
United States, and make his fortune. He had put 

Vol. VII.— 1. 

his means, the gatherings and savings of thirty 
years of work and economy, into fine laces. 

It was a queer way to carry fine laces, — was n't 
it ? — crammed in spaces where dolls' brains and 
hearts and lungs ought to have been, if the darlings 
had had their dues. 

"It's a very heavy risk to run," said Mrs. 
Hackett, shaking her head. 

" No risk at all," said Master Hackett, the bold; 
"the thought will never come to the stupids to 
look down a doll's throat." 

" Or to take its head off," said Miss Hackett. 

" Well, be sure you make good knots in your 
thread, Flora, and sew the bodies up snug ; ana 
glue the heads on tight, Billy," said Mrs. Hackett. 

" Trust me," replied Billy. " I '11 engage that 
none of these beauties will ever lose their heads. 
I '11 glue them on so snug, the dolls wont be able 
to wag their heads when they get to Yankee- 

"Any way, I '11 feel uneasy till we 're safe past 
the custom-house. They do say that the officers 
are prying, beyond all believing. I must say, it is 
not to my liking, — this dodging the law ; I 'd be 
far happier to have father pay the duty on the lace, 
like an honest man. I 'd feel more as if the Lord 
had good cause to give us good luck in a new land, 
than if we 'd cheated at the gate ; though, to be 
sure, it 's not like dealings between man and man. 
A few pounds more or less can't make a deal of 
difference with America." 

"No," said Master Hackett, "the Yankees '11 
never know they 're hurt ; but I would n't care if 
they should feel it. If they had n't kicked up a 
rumpus, and fought us, and set up an establish- 



ment for themselves, there would n't be any duties 
to pay. I don't wonder they did fight, though, 
I 'm going to 'list to fight the Indians when I get 
over there." 

" And to get scalped," said Miss Hackett, as she 
crammed a point-lace collar into an alabaster doll- 
head. "I believe we shall never get this work 

It was a tedious job, but it was, at length, done, 
and the dolls and the Hacketts shipped for the 
United States. 

When the custom-house officials boarded the 
incoming steamer, Mr. Hackett, without hesita- 
tion, reported his dolls and toys, and stood by 
while his wares were rummaged so roughly that 
Master Hackett, also standing by, thought that 
some of the doll-heads must surely burst open and 
let out their secrets. But the investigation ended 
without any cracked skulls ; duty was paid on the 
dolls, while the laces passed in free. 

The Hacketts, in good humor, took rooms, and 
again the dolls were beheaded, disemboweled and 
reconstructed. The laces were worked over and 
carded ; a toy-shop was opened, and Master 
Hackett, instead of going off to fight the Indians, 
and to get scalped, was set to keep it, while Miss 
Hackett presided over the lace-shop. You and I 
know why her laces could be sold at low prices, — 
low prices bring quick sales, — thus Mr. Hackett 
soon found himself back in London, ready to bring 
out another lot of immigrant dolls, to find homes 
in little Yankee girls' hearts. In the meantime, 
some things had happened, — among others, the 
Chicago fire. By this, many and many a little girl 
was left doll-less, and many a boy top-less. All over 
the country, from New England and New York 
and Ohio, and the great North-west and the Pacific 
coast, while mammas were boiling and baking, 
and packing boxes of clothing for the burnt-out 
folks, and papas were giving their checks freely, 
the dear little boys and girls were getting tops and 
dressing dollies to comfort the burnt-out children. 

And Santa Claus, you must know, was one of 
the heaviest sufferers from the great fire. Thou- 
sands and thousands of his Christmas toys were 
destroyed. But when the great holiday came 
around, the children in the land stood by their 
blessed old saint and friend. Many a Christmas- 
box they sent to Chicago for this and that burnt- 
out Sunday-school. And so it came that there was 
a Christmas-tree for a certain Presbyterian Sunday- 
school in Chicago, all of whose gifts had been sent 
by children of nobody-knew-what-places ; that is 
to say, nobody knew by the time the articles had 
reached the tree. 

Among other things on this certain tree was a 
wonderful dolly, in a marvelous dress of pink gauze. 

" If I could have that," said Josie Hawley, " I 'd 
stop crying about my burnt-up dolly." 

" Why don't you pray to get it," said Patsy 
Clark. "I 've been praying for that picture-book 
up there ever since I first saw it." 

" Well, 1 will," said little Josie. 

She put her hands up to her eyes, and looking 
through her fingers to keep the coveted dolly in 
sight, she said : 

" Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
If I should die before I wake" 

"Is that the right way? 'I pray the' 

Santa Claus has tooked it down ! " she cried. 

A lady had just whispered to Santa Claus. He 
was looking straight into Josie's eager face. 

" This beautiful doll," he said, " is for the good 
little girl, Josie Hawley." 

Oh ! where was the little girl who had sent that 
pretty doll ? She ought to have been there to see 
Josie's radiant, happy face, as two eager arms were 
reached out to receive the beauty. 

One day, in the following January, Mrs. Hawley 
was thinking, in desponding mood, of her ruined 
fortunes, when Josie ran into the room, crying : 

" Come quick, Mamma ! My dolly is drownded 
all to pieces in the baf-tub." 

" Why, Josie, what have you been doing ?" said 
Mamma, hastening to the bath-room. 

" I gived her a baf; her wanted a baf so bad," 
said Josie. 

There, in and on the booming deep, with a cata- 
ract roaring from the open faucet, was the beautiful 
dolly, all unpasted. One fair foot and the fairer 
head had gone to the bottom of the tub. The 
beautiful unglued curls were floating in a tangled 
mass on the restless waves. 

''And what is this?" said Mamma, as, having 
rescued the other parts, her hand plunged and 
brought up the head. Dripping honiton lace was 
hanging from it. " Did anybody ever?" continued 
Mamma, pulling at the lace, and drawing out yard 
after yard. 

Further investigation followed ; dolly was dis- 
sected, and a marvelous anatomical structure was 
revealed. You see how it was, do you not? It 
was one of the Hackett dolls which, by mistake, 
did not get its lace insides taken out, on its arrival 
in America. 

Of course, the matter could n't be kept out of 
the papers ; it was published far and wide. I pre- 
sume you read an account of it. Some custom- 
house officers did, and the Hacketts did not. They 
took a London paper, setting it down that Ameri- 
can newspapers were sensational and unreliable. 
The custom-house folks had their explanation 



about the lace-stuffed doll : the lace was smuggled 
lace. They wrote it down on their memories' tab- 
lets, " Beware of dolls ! " Mr. Hackett was com- 
ing in on a second venture while this inscription 
was fresh on the tablets. 

When his dolls were exposed for inspection, the 
investigator took one in his hand. It was a beau- 
tiful creature, with long Saxon curls, black eyes, 
bright cheeks and a rose-bud mouth. There is 
surely not a little girl in all the world who could 
have looked at it without a flutter. What do you 

think that hard-hearted officer did ? He took the 
head in his right hand, the bright face against his 
great palm, while the left grasped the darling just 
over the little heart, if there had been a heart in its 
body. He laid the neck across the box's edge and 
broke the pretty head off, so that it would have 
bothered Master Hackett, expert that he was, to 
reconstruct that doll. 

Doubtless, there never was another lot of dolls 
that paid a higher fee than Mr, Hackett's for 
admission into our country. 

By Frank H. Converse. 


ITH shaking 
sails and jib 
hauled snug 
to windward, 
the old whal- 
ing schooner 
"Macy " lay- 
tossing un- 
restfully on 
the waves of 
the Caribbe- 
an Sea in the 
swiftly gath- 
ering, tropic- 
al twilight. 
'.: - - E7- i Leaning idly 

—- ■ -«^Sp " tjjIjjP' over hertaff- 

rail, Captain 
Smith, and Mr. Freeman the mate, watched the 
approach of a whale-boat containing Captain Bangs 
of the "Doane" (also a whaler), which vessel was 
hove to, a pistol-shot distant, to afford her com- 
mander opportunity for making an evening call. 

"Drop her astern, you 'Dolph," growled the 
genial Bangs; and, the boat having arrived along- 
side, he scrambled over the Macy's rail, followed 
by his boat's crew. " Mind you make the painter 
well fast ! " With this injunction he dived below, 
in compliance with a nod from Captain Smith. 
'Dolph, a stolid Belgian noted for his stupidity, 
grunted obedience, and with great deliberation 
tied the " painter," or boat-line, around the nearest 
stanchion with an elaborate double bow-knot, as 
though it were a kind of gigantic shoe-string, after 
which he joined his shipmates forward. But Boy 
Jack, who was youngest and lightest of the 

" Doane's " crew, and pulled "stroke" for the 
captain, remained in the boat. 

" Better than tobacco smoke and a dirty fore- 
castle," he muttered, drowsily, as, curled up in the 
stern-sheets, he watched the Mother Carey's chick- 
ens which danced in the " Macy's " wake. And 
•vaguely associating their monotonous note with the 
well-remembered twittering of barn-swallows at 
home, he fell fast asleep, unconscious that, little 
by little, the clumsily knotted boat's painter was 
yielding to the strain imposed upon it by the rising 
and falling waves. 

Three hours later, Captain Bangs came on deck, 
and, having summoned his crew, somewhat hilari- 
ously ordered his boat to be brought alongside. 

Presently, 'Dolph, who had been aft, appeared 
before the waiting commander with a dismayed 

"It vos a touble bow-knotz, Mynheer Cap'n," 
he stammered, "and I shall not tinks how he 
would untie, but " 

"Why, you dunderheaded old — old — graven 
image!" shouted Captain Bangs, rushing to the 
rail in horror. "You don't mean to say that a 
brand-new three-hundred-dollar whale-boat has 
gone adrift through your everlasting, blamed 
stupidity ! " 

" I haf tied my shoe yesterday mit the same 
knotz, an' he wos not yet untie," answered 'Dolph, 
innocently advancing an enormous foot for the 
frenzied captain's inspection. 

" O-ww ! " roared the wrathful Bangs, twining 
his hands in his own hair in a seeming endeavor to 
lift himself from the deck; " take that thick-skulled 
idiot away, some of you, before I throw him over- 
board ! " and Captain Bangs strode wildly up and 



down, to the intense but secret delight of little Mr. 
Marshall, the second mate, who grew purple to his 
ear-tips with suppressed laughter. 

To add to the perplexities of the situation, a 
heavy squall began to darken the sky and whiten 
the waves to windward, rendering a return to the 
" Doane," for that night at least, an impossibility. 

But, leaving the hapless commander to pour out 
the vials of unavailing wrath upon the head of the 
unlucky but unmoved 'Dolph as he assists in short- 
ening sail on board the " Macy," let us see how it 
fares with our hero, Boy Jack. 

He had been rudely aroused from a two hours' 
sleep by the violent tossing and pitching of the 
boat. With a strange feeling that something was 
wrong, he stumbled forward through the dark- 
ness, half awake, to find the painter towing along- 
side, and the boat drifting aimlessly at the will of 
the waves ! At the same moment, by a sudden 
flash of lightning which lit up the sea for miles 
around, he saw for an instant a white speck against 
the blackening horizon, which he knew was prob- 
ably the " Macy." 

But though cast down, Boy Jack was not of the 
stuff which yields easily to despondency. 

" I must work up to windward as well as I can, 
till morning, and take my chance of being seen 
from aloft," he said half aloud as he raised the 
light mast which every whale-boat carries, fitted to 
an adjustable socket. Then bringing the peak of 
his sail down nearly to the tack, he lashed it se- 
curely, thereby making a sort of storm try-sail, after 
which, shipping the rudder, he brought the boat 
up to the wind, and began his hazardous voyage. 

But the wind, at first blowing in fitful gusts, soon 
burst with fierce suddenness from the north-west. 
Narrowly escaping being swamped in the act, Boy 
Jack had no other resource than to keep off and 
run before the fierce blast, which sent the terrible 
green seas cockling and cresting in close pursuit 

Crouched in the stern, and drenched to the skin 
with driving spray, he clung convulsively to the 
tiller as the buoyant boat flew with frightful veloc- 
ity over the storm-tossed waves, bending all his en- 
ergies upon the one effort to prevent the little craft 
from broaching to. Shivering with cold and ex- 
citement, oh, how bitterly he regretted the madness 
which had induced him, two months before, to 
leave his quiet New England home for a life whose 
every surrounding he had found, when too late, 
was not at all to his taste. 

But as the hours passed on, and the first gleams 
of morning appeared in the east, breaking through 
the dispersing clouds, the violence of the wind 
gradually abated until it had settled down to a 
steady breeze. It was then, as he stood erect and 

shook out his sail, that he caught his first sight of 
the strange island which, on the chart, is laid down 
as " Rondia," and which from its dangerous sur- 
rounding of coral reefs, is seldom or never visited 
by vessels, that might pass and repass a thousand 
times without discerning the wonderfully concealed 
passage leading to its interior. For Rondia is. 
nothing more nor less than an extinct volcano, 
rising cone-like from the sea, with neither shore 
nor harbor visible a cable's length distant from its 
lofty sides. 

It was not until Boy Jack had steered his boat 
between rows of coral reefs against which the surf 
unceasingly chafed and fretted, and had come un- 
der the very shadow of the overhanging cliffs, that 
a cleft in the mountain-side, through which a nar- 
row creek flowed inland, revealed itself to his 
astonished eyes. Ages ago, say the Rondians, this 
was a burning volcano. And they add that, at 
the crucifixion of our Savior, when earth and sea 
were shaken, its eastern side was riven from top to 
bottom, so that the sea, rushing suddenly in, 
quenched the internal fires, and remaining, formed 
the bowl-shaped harbor in the center of which no 
bottom (so they assert) can be reached. As one 
in a dream, Boy Jack was borne on the incoming 
tide between towering walls of stone, until, sud- 
* denly rounding an abrupt bend in the stream, a 
wonderful scene was presented to his view. 

Before him lay a perfectly circular basin of clear 
water, rimmed with dazzlingly white sand ; on the 
shore opposite to him was a tiny collection of 
palm-thatched huts. From behind them, as from 
every side of the beautiful harbor, thickly wooded 
slopes rose gradually upward to a wedge-shaped 
summit which was seemingly shut in by a circular 
patch of blue sky. 

As the boat's keel grated on the powdered coral 
beach, Boy Jack stepped ashore, and not yet en- 
tirely certain that he was fully awake, looked about 
him. The stillness, no less than the heat, was in- 
tense. No sign of life was anywhere visible. Fol- 
lowing a sort of foot-path leading up from the 
beach, he found himself in an irregular palm- 
shaded, grass be-grown sort of street, which, wan- 
dering aimlessly along between the little vine-em- 
bowered dwellings on either side, lost itself in 
luxuriant groves of plantains and bananas. 

"The land of Nod," said Boy Jack, dreamily. 
For Rondia was taking her noonday siesta, and 
reclining at ease in grass hammocks, or stretched 
at indolent length in the cooling shade, was the 
entire population of Rondia, a people who, for the 
most part, appear to be allied to French or Spanish 
Creoles in appearance and language, yet who claim 
that the blood of the now extinct race of Caribs 
flows in their veins. 

t»79- 1 


Fortunately for Boy Jack, weak and faint with 
hunger, Father Francis, a sort of missionary priest, 
who had been sent here thirty years before from 
Dominica, and had taken up his permanent abode 
in Rondia, appeared upon the scene. He was a 
spare, kindly visaged man in a faded cassock and 
broad-brimmed hat, mounted upon a little, ven- 
erable and sleepy-looking donkey. Jack briefly 
related his story to the amazed priest, amid mut- 
tered exclamations of languid surprise in a jumble 
of poor French and stray bits of English from 

dition of eating and sleeping. Yet, as Boy Jack 
learned from Father Francis, his was the first white 
face which had been seen there since the year 1852, 
when a Scotch brig was wrecked near the entrance 
to the harbor, and the two only survivors, who 
found their way into this strange interior, were 
afterward carried to Barbadoes by a turtle-catcher. 
Twice a year a small sloop is loaded with the few 
native products of the island, to be exchanged in 
Barbadoes for the necessaries of life, — which, with 
the Rondians, seem to consist of calico, chewing 

"a sudden flash of lightning lit up the sea." 

a throng of now aroused Rondians who gathered 
about him, and to whom he expressed his willing- 
ness to dine on the shortest possible notice. 

Boy Jack has since averred that the baked beans 
of his native land never tasted one-half as good as 
the savory bowl of stew which was soon set before 
him. It was composed of salt fish, oil, beans, 
Chili peppers, yams, sweet-potatoes, gumbo, turtle 
meat and plantains, thickened with cassava, and 
flavored to a shuddering extent with garlic. 

In a day or two, the little ripple of excitement 
which the stranger's advent had caused among this 
the most indolent people in existence, had sub- 
sided, and Rondia had returned to her normal con- 

tobacco, and stove-pipe hats, — though these last- 
named articles are considered rather as a fash- 
ionable luxury, than as a necessity. You can easily 
imagine that a Rondian presents a decidedly pe- 
culiar and imposing appearance as he stalks ma- 
jestically over the burning sand (the thermometer 
at 102 in the shade) in dingy and tattered linen 
shirt and pants, and barefooted, but with his crisp 
hair surmounted by a stiff, bell-crowned^ hat of the 
fashion of forty years ago. 

The curious interior of Rondia, already alluded 
to, is formed of lava, which cooled so suddenly 
from its fiery, melted state that it left the ground- 
surface covered with air-holes, like the top of an 



immense griddle-cake. These then became grad- 
ually filled with dust, loose earth and decayed 
animal and vegetable matter, forming a surface soil 
of wonderful richness. Every variety of vegetation 
matures for the lazy Rondian without his help, 
and all kinds of tropical fruits ripen with incredible 
rapidity, as though to fall into his open mouth as he 
snores away two-thirds of his indolent life in a grass 
hammock. With the exception of the three hurri- 
cane months, as they are called, — which periods of 
wind and rain afford an excuse for an additional 
amount of sleep, — the climate of Rondia is that of 
a perpetual summer. 

The harbor itself, from its nearness to the sea and 
great depth, abounds with fish and turtle. Here 
Boy Jack saw for the first time the cardinal-hued 
"snapper" and crimson mullet, the chameleon- 
like dolphin, the slender pipe-fish, parrot-fishes, 
gorgeous in- plate armor of red and green, and 
occasionally the rainbow-tinted angel-fish of the 

Now Boy Jack called to mind how often, in his 
school days, he had dreamed of the happiness which 
a perpetual holiday in some such climate as this — a 
holiday unbroken by the slightest semblance of duty 
or task — would afford him. But he found that, 
after a week of this very easy way of living, it 


began to grow too tiresome. He had made the ac- 
quaintance of every male inhabitant of Rondia, 
from old Manuel, the Spaniard, popularly believed 
to have been a pirate, to Jocopo, a peculiarly vicious 
monkey belonging to Father Francis. Mamma 
Moyo, an Obi woman, or witch, had given him a 
charm to insure him riches and long life. He had 
visited the ruined stone lookout where La Fitte, the 

freebooter, watched the sails in the offing ; for, 
many years before, Rondia was a famed trysting- 
place for the pirates which infested the Caribbean 
sea. He had been out to the wreck of a Spanish 
man-of-war, where at low tide the whitening bones 
of her ill-fated crew can be seen among the rusty 
cannon on the bottom. His appetite was sated with 
fruit, and he loathed the odor of garlic. 

" Rest you easy, my son," said Father Francis, 
who took a secret pride in his English ; " s'pose 
you s'all here for always to stay, the peoples have 
to me told that they you will make to become a — 
a — Gobemador — I am not know what he s'all be 
call in English." 

For the primitive Rondians looked upon Boy 
Jack, who had given them such wonderful accounts 
of the world without, and especially of the great 
Yankee nation, with a sort of superstitious respect, 
as a being possessed of vast stores of wisdom. 

But this dazzling honor, to which was added the 
inducement of marriage with a Rondian belle of 
some personal beauty, was insufficient to turn Boy 
Jack from his fixed purpose of setting sail for the 
nearest sea-board port frequented by American ship- 
ping. To reach his quiet New England home once 
more, never to leave it again, — to ask forgiveness 
of his loved parents for Jiis headstrong folly in run- 
ning away to sea, and be to 
them evermore a dutiful son, 
— this was the one dream which 
was present to his mind. 

And one day, amid general 
lamentation, Boy Jack waved 
a good-bye to Rondia, leaving 
Father Francis to lift up his 
voice and weep, while his flock 
forgot their sorrows in sleep. 
His boat was provisioned with 
dried turtle, cassava, and fruit ; 
he had water sufficient to last 
a week. Barbadoes was but 
eighty miles distant, the course 
W. N. W. by his boat com- 
pass, and at this season of the 
year he might reckon upon 
fair weather and the steady 
breath of the N. E. trade-wind. 
He had a blanket and an old 
sou'wester hat, in addition to 
his scanty stock of clothing; but in that delightful 
climate this was all-sufficient for ordinary needs. 

Could he but reach Barbadoes, he knew that he 
was almost sure of finding American vessels loading 
with sugar or molasses for northern ports. The 
most he feared was the remote possibility of falling 
in with the "Doane" or "Macy." He fully in- 
tended that in some way the whale-boat should be 

i8 7 o.] 


returned to its owners ; but he firmly resolved that 
he himself would never willingly go back to the 
rough life of a whaler's forecastle. 

By night-fall, the lofty peak of Rondia was no 
longer visible. Now and then, a lonely, barren 
rock could be discerned, with a troop of sea-gulls 
swooping about it, but as the twilight deepened into 
darkness, and the stars shone out with a softened 
brilliancy peculiar to the tropics, Boy Jack began to 
experience that terrible sensation of being 

"Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide, wide sea," 

in all its misery. But finally, commending himself 
to the loving care of Him who holds the sea in the 
hollow of His hand, he wrapped himself in his 
blanket and fell asleep, awaking at intervals to find 
the weather fine and the wind gradually dying out. 

Toward day-break, he was awakened by a repeated 
hail of " Boat ahoy ! " Struggling to his feet, he 
became conscious that the cry came from a large 
fore-and-aft schooner, which was becalmed a cable's 
length distant. A sudden terror came over him, 
for in the dim light the vessel's rig and size appeared 
to be exactly those of the " Doane," and at that 
distance he could not see whether she carried quar- 
ter-boats and had lookout stations aloft, or not. 

" Come alongside and give an account of your- 
self," again shouted a hoarse voice, which to Boy 
Jack's excited imagination seemed that of the 
dreaded Bangs; and, as escape was impossible, he 
slowly propelled his boat toward the schooner. 
But as he neared her he saw, with feelings of great 
relief, that it was no whaler; her name was the 
" Ella," of Boston. 

As he came alongside, a gray-bearded man si- 
lently left the wheel and took the boat's painter. 

" Can I see the captain ? " asked Boy Jack, as, 
reaching the deck, he noticed with some surprise 
that no one but the gray-bearded man was in sight, 
and he seemed to have suddenly fallen asleep as 
soon as he grasped the spokes of the wheel. 

"You can," curtly answered the gray-bearded 
man, suddenly opening his eyes, but not otherwise 
moving a muscle of his face. 

" Well," said Boy Jack, " where is he? " 

"I 'm the individual," was the unmoved answer. 
" Who are you — a runaway from a whaler, eh ? " 

In some astonishment, Boy Jack told his story, 
to which the captain — whose name was Simons — 
listened without remark. He had met with so 
many more remarkable experiences in his thirty- 
three years of sea life, that he seemed to think Boy 
Jack's narration hardly worthy of comment. 

" S'pose you want to work your passage north ? " 
said Captain Simons interrogatively. Jack nodded. 

"Well," was the dry answer, "you '11 have a 
chance to. Me and the steward has buried mate, 
second mate, and three men, who 've all died of 
yellow fever, since we left Trinidad eight days ago, 
bound for Boston. And I 'm going to get the 
schooner home, if nobody 's left aboard but me." 

At Captain Simons's bidding, Boy Jack called the 
steward, who was a gigantic, but wonderfully good- 
natured, negro ; and, the whale-boat being taken 
up to the stern davits with infinite labor, the cap- 
tain gave Boy Jack the course and the wheel, and 
was asleep almost as soon as he reached the cabin. 

But long before they sighted Highland Light, 
Boy Jack was in the same condition. Sometimes, 
after standing three or four hours at the wheel, a 
sudden squall would rise, the halyards would be let 
go ; and, after the squall had passed, the three 
would manage, with heart-breaking toil, to hoist 
the heavy foresail and mainsail again. 

Oftentimes did Boy Jack pace the deck, in the 
night watch, when it was perfectly impossible to 
keep awake ; and he slept as he walked, until 
aroused by some order, when he would be obliged 
to pull and haul till it seemed as though his arms 
would drop off. 

Still, with the exception of a blow off Hatteras, 
the wind and weather held generally fair. Captain 
Simons, who was a man of indomitable pluck and 
energy, vowed that he was n't going to ask assist- 
ance, at any rate not as long as he could do with- 
out it, though several times they might have 
spoken passing vessels. 

However, Boy Jack has since told me that he 
thinks he could not have had a much harder time, 
if he had made the voyage in his whale-boat ; and 
that, while he had great admiration for Captain 
Simons's courage, he was many times inclined to 
doubt the wisdom of his judgment. 

But on one beautiful day in June, the tug-boat 
" Vixen " took the schooner's hawser in Boston Bay 
and finally carried her alongside Commercial wharf. 
Boy Jack helped to furl the heavy sails for the last 
time, and, after packing his scanty stock of clothing 
in a bundle, went into the cabin to say good-bye to 
Captain Simons, who, by the way, had promised 
to see that the whale-boat in which Boy Jack had 
made His memorable trip was sent across to Prov- 
incetown, where the " Doane " was owned, with 
the compliments of Jack Smith. 

Mr. Mason, one of the owners of the "Ella," 
was talking with Captain Simons, and rubbing his 
hands in rather a satisfied manner. 

"And this is the boy, eh? "said Mr. Mason, 
looking sharply over his spectacles at Jack, who, 
finding that he had been the subject of conversa- 
tion, colored violently. 

' ' That 's the boy , " answered Captain Simons con- 



ciselyj "and a better or more willing lad never 
stood five hours to a wheel without a whimper." 

An order for a suit of clothes and a check for fifty 
dollars are not very unwelcome gifts to any one. 
I wish some one would make such a present to me. 
And that is just what Mr. Mason handed Boy Jack ; 
moreover, he patted him on the shoulder, and said, 

" Good boy — he '11 make a smart man." Captain 
Simons also said words to the same effect, and 
wrung his hand at parting till it ached. 

"But whatever you do," said Captain Simons 
finally, "don't go to sea for a living." And Jack 
not only said that he certainly would n't, but has 
kept his promise. 

By R. S. T. 

A LITTLE old woman 

With silver-rimmed " specs," 
Quite daintily dressed 

In the cleanest of checks, 
Was sitting alone in a tower, so 

That it seemed like a needle pierc- 
ing the sky. 

There she had sat 

For — oh, ever so long ! 
Knitting, and singing 
A sweet little song. 
And she said, while her face was 

all puckered with smiles, 
I '11 soon have enough, for I 've knit 
twenty miles." 

She had needles all round her 

And yarn in her shoe, 
And she had a partic- 
ular object in view. 
Being awfully tired of perpetual 

She meant to climb down on her 
long piece of knitting. 

The knitting hangs free 

From the wide-open casement ; 
The end of it reaches 
Almost to the basement. 
She cheerfully knits, and remarks 

as she sings : 
By means of this knitting I '11 do 
without wings." 



Of the world far beneath her 

She knew not a bit, 
But she said to herself, 
With a good deal of wit : 
" If no better than this place, it cannot be worse." 
So continued her knitting, and singing her 

At last, she got near 

To the end of her work ; 
The swift needles flew 
In and out, with a jerk, 
When, some knot in the worsted producing a 

This cheerful and pleasant old girl dropped a 

Now, a great many persons 

Are apt to suppose 
That dropping one stitch — 

Which you know, hardly shows — 
Should be a small matter quite easy to shirk ; 
And so the old lady went on with her work. 

She finished her line, 

Never minding her error; 
Tied it fast, and then started, 
When, oh ! to her terror, 
It began, where the stitch had been dropped, 

to unravel, 
And rapidly down toward the earth did she 
travel ! 

At first fast, and then faster, 

The knitting unwound, 
And faster and faster 
She fell to the ground, 
Whirled over and over, and heavily dropped, 
Poor soul 1 How she wished on her window 
she 'd stopped ! 

So, children, be thorough, 

Whatever you do, 
For a similiar trouble 
Might happen to y<ju. 
In performing your duties don't offer to shirk, 
But be careful no stitches are dropped in your 





By Edwin C. Taylor. 

Have you ever noticed, boys and girls, the effect destitute of beauty. That which is called " a hon- 
of repetition in design ? Glance at the carpet eysuckle," a favorite decorative device since the 

' -• 


under your feet, and see how symmetry is pro- days of ancient Greece, is, as you will see by 

duced by repeating forms irregular in themselves, finding the word in Worcester's big dictionary, 

The merest blur, repeated, may form part of a merely a repetition of a lobe-like form taken from 

very pretty pattern which will be quite regular in a part of the unopened flower. 

shape, not having at all the effect of a blur. This The kaleidoscope furnishes the most striking evi- 
doubling quite takes away the uneven look, as you dence of this power to assume a pleasing shape 
might call it, and so produces harmony of shape, that repetition gives to irregular fragments, — for 

s ■-,'7 V 

't-^ I --£> 

... . ' .:''.:. .':•: '±\ 

though a thing may be beautiful without this you all know what pretty designs are formed from 

evenness or regularity. bits of glass or other material within the angles of 

Many of the fairest forms of classic decoration your kaleidoscopes, 
are made by the repetition of shapes in themselves I want to show you a very pretty illustration of 




the effect of repetition and one which any of you 
may easily make as an ornament to the fly leaf of 
a book or for any other purpose where it is desired 
to introduce a name as an adornment. 

This is the way to make it. Take a bit of paper 
say about the size of a playing-card, 
and fold it lengthwise, then open it 
flat and write any name, as I have 
written "Allie " here, directly over 
the crease caused by folding; 
fold it again and with an 
ivory paper cutter, a knife 
handle or your thumb- 
nail, rub evenly over the 
folded paper, and the 
name written with 
the soft black lead 
pencil will be slight- 
ly "set off" on the 

opposite side of the crease, as seen in the third 
sketch. The faint impression may then be traced 
over with pencil, and you will have the pretty 
figure of the two "Allies," as shown on this page. 

If it is desired to 
transfer this to the 
fly leaf of a book, the 
whole design may be laid 
face down and rubbed as 
described and the slight im- 
pression that is left, finished up 
afterward with ink or pencil. 

If the fly leaf is dark paper, 

the double name may be painted 

over in gold, bright red or other 

color to contrast with the ground; and 

I think if you will try and make a double 

name, you will, after one or two attempts, 

succeed and think it very pretty. 


By Ella A. Drinkwater. 

Supper was over, the dishes were washed, and 
there was no one in the tidy little kitchen but Wal- 
lace and Diantha. Wallace was on his knees be- 
fore the stove stirring some evergreen branches in 
a large pan in the oven, and Diantha was prepar- 
ing to make a sponge for Graham bread. 

" How good and woodsy that smells, Wal," said 
Diantha as she measured the flour into the large, 
yellow bowl. "What is it?" 

"Arbor vitae for Billy; I 'm going to mix it with 
his feed." 

"I don't believe he will like it if it tastes as 
strong as it smells." 

" Mr. Gucrin likes it ; he says he eats it between 
bread and butter, and it 's good for a horse. He 
told me about it and gave it to me." 

"You might have used some of ours," replied 
Diantha, dropping a pinch of salt into the flour. 

"We haven't any," said Wallace, springing up 
and seating himself on the wood-box. 

" Why yes we have," returned Diantha, " in the 
front yard before the parlor windows." 

"Why no," declared Wallace, " there is n't an 
arbor vita; on the place. In the front yard we have 
spruce and pine and hemlock." 

"Why, William Wallace Angus, you know it 's 
arbor vitae," cried Diantha, turning an astonished 
face upon her brother. " We have spruce in the 

corner, hemlock before the piazza door, and arbor 
vitae before the parlor windows." 

"Never!" retorted Wallace, "we never had a 
speck of arbor vitae on the place. Why should I 
get it elsewhere if we had it?'' 

"Let me see what you call arbor vitas," asked 
Diantha, stooping to take a hot spray from the 
oven. "Yes, it is arbor vitae, just like ours in the 
front yard." 

" You don't know what arbor vitas is," contended 
Wallace, his eyes beginning to shine and the color 
streaming up into his forehead. 

" I know this is arbor vitas," said Diantha, drop- 
ping the spray and turning to pour the yeast into 
the flour. 

" But if you say we have it in the front yard, you 
don't know what it is." 

"What is Mr. Blake's hedge made of?" quietly 
asked Diantha. 

"Arbor vitae, of course " 

" The tree in our yard is just like that." 

" But it does n't grow into trees," persisted Wal- 

" It does if it is not trimmed, and ours has never 
been, only a little underneath to let the grass grow 
under it. Just run out and get a piece and com- 
pare it with this." 

" My boots are off, and the rain will wet my slip- 




pers," objected Wallace, "and beside," he added 
laughing, " there is n't any arbor vita? there." 

"What is there?" 

" Spruce and hemlock and I wont say posi- 
tively, what the other is ; I only know it is not arbor 
vita?. I think the other is pine." 

" How did you know arbor vitae ? " 

" By experience. I guess a fellow that is old 
enough to begin to learn a carpenter's trade ought 
to know different kinds of wood. Where did you 
learn about arbor vitas?" 

" The man who sold it to father said it was arbor 
vita? " 

" He couldn't have said any such thing," inter- 
rupted Wallace, hotly. "Father must have forgot 
the name." 

"And every one who has ever spoken of it in 
my hearing has called it arbor vita;," continued 
Diantha, beginning to stir lukewarm water into 
the flour, and speaking rather sharply. 

" Then they did n't know. Arbor vitae never 
grows with limbs stretching out straight like the 
one before the parlor windows. It grows in a thick 

" So does ours. It has about five or six trunks 
that grow straight up." 

"I know better, it has only one trunk. You 
never can see through the limbs of an arbor vita? 
as we can through that," Wallace said eagerly. 

" But you can't see through this at all, except 
perhaps in some places where it was winter-killed 
year before last," explained Diantha. 

" It never was winter-killed," cried Wallace, 
hardly knowing what he was saying. 

" You have been at home so little lately that you 
have forgotten," replied Diantha, who now became 
calm as her brother's vehemence increased. 

" I tell you I have n't forgotten. I looked at 
the front yard trees before I got mine from Mr. 
Guerin, and I tell you there is n't a shred of arbor 
vitas on the place. You don't know one evergreen 
tree from another." 

" That 's true," replied Diantha meekly, "I do 
forget their names, but I know how they all look, 
and I know arbor vitas." 

"How can you when you just acknowledged 
that you don't know one tree from another ? I 
read to-day that boys reason, but girls jump at a 
conclusion. Just as you jump at that arbor 

" I know it because it is so different from all the 
others," Diantha answered quietly. "I have al- 
ways noticed it and liked it because its name 
means the tree of life. Now, Wal, do just run out 
to the front yard and get a piece for me ; you can 
put on your rubbers." 

"There 's nothing to go for," declared Wallace, 

walking about with his hands in his pockets, and 
trying to appear as if the matter were now settled 
and done with. 

"Is there any other tree that looks very much 
like arbor vitas?" asked Diantha wavering a 

" Yes, that tree in the front yard," replied Wal- 
lace ironically, ending with an excited laugh that 
had just a little sneer in it. 

" If you wont go I '11 get up and look at it as 
soon as it is daylight in the morning," said Dian- 
tha, carefully covering her sponge with the bread- 

"Well, I'll go just to satisfy you," cried Wal- 
lace, slipping on his overshoes and catching up the 

" Then I '11 dry it and hold that and your arbor 
vitas together and let you choose which came from 
the front yard," Diantha called after him as he 
swiftly followed the path around to the front of the 
house, his candle flickering and sputtering in the 

Diantha waited in the door-way with her apron 
thrown over her head, watching him as he stood 
before the tree. 

He was gone rather longer than it generally 
takes one to pick a sprig from a tree, but his sister 
waited for him, and allowed him to speak first as 
he came toward her looking disturbed. 

"You're right," he answered huskily. "I 
would n't have believed it. I must have forgot- 

"People usually have the trees alike on both 
sides of the path ; that must have been the reason 
you thought so," returned Diantha hastily, drop- 
ping her eyes to conceal the laugh in them, while 
she mentally determined never to mention the sub- 
ject to him again. 

"Then if you are through with your work in 
the kitchen, let us go to the sitting-room, and I '11 
play a game of chess with you," proposed Wal- 
lace, bending his flushed face over his rubbers, 
which seemed hard to get off. 

" So we will," answered Diantha, knowing that 
he disliked chess as deeply as she enjoyed it, but 
generously accepting his endeavor to atone for his 
injustice to her. 

So they sat down together at the chess table in 
the cheery sitting-room where their invalid mother 
lay on the lounge, her fingers busy with needle- 
work, while their father sat beside her reading 
aloud from the weekly paper. 

" You move," whispered Wallace, after they had 
arranged their men. 

Then Diantha, to begin the game, moved her 
king's bishop's pawn, hesitating with her finger 
upon it, as her eyes met those of Wallace. 




" Wallace," she said softly, noting the color still " But it's awful hard," he returned, looking re- 
in his face and his nervous, apologetic manner, lieved. "I don't remember what I said, but now 
"we ought to be very happy that neither of us said I 've made up my mind always to be just and rea- 
anything unkind, when we were so heated. It 's sonable in an argument, for it 's the easiest thing 
manly to yield so gracefully in an argument." in the world to be mistaken." 


By Joel Stacy. 

ONE cold November morning, 
All kind companions scorning, 
A pensive cricket sought 
In melancholy thought 
His woes to stifle. 

Alas ! alas ! " cried he, — 
" Ah woe, ah woe is me ! 
*\ I really do not see 

Why I should be 
So melan — melancholy. 
Ah me ! 
Let 's see." 

He thought, and thought, and thought, — 
That cricket did. 
"It is not love, nor care, 
That fills me with despair. 
My chirp is sharp and sweet, 
And nimble are my feet ; 
My appetite is good, 
And bountiful my food ; 
My coat is smooth and bright! 
My wings are free and light. — 
Then ah, and O ! Ah me ! 
What can the matter be ? " 

Long time the cricket sighed, 

And muttered low : " Confound it ! " 

Then joyfully he cried : 
" Eureka ! O, Eureka ! " 

By which he meant, " I 've found it."— 

The learned little shrieker ! 
" It is — ah, well-a-day ! 

Because my girl 's away, 

My dimble, damble Dolly, 

My cheery, deary Polly. 

Oh, Queen of little girls ! — 

I like her sunny curls ; 

I like her eyes and hair, 

Her funny little stare, — 

Her way of jumping quick 

Whene'er she hears me click. 

She 's loving and she 's neat, 

She 's spry and true and sweet; 

And though I caper free, 

She never steps on me. 

Ke-nick ! Kee-nick ! 

Ker tick ! a tick ! 

And now the thought has come,- 

To-morrow she HI be home ! 

My Polly, Polly, Polly, 

My dimble, damble Dolly ! 

I '11 dance to-night 

In the bright moon-light. 

To-morrow I '11 see Polly ! — 

Tra la ! How very jolly ! " 

Next night the house with pleasure rang, 

For Polly girl had come ; 
The cricket on the hearth-stone sang, — 

And home once more was home. 





By Olive Thorne. 


The first toy is said to have been a rattle-box, — 
a symbol, said the thoughtful ancients, "of the 
eternal agitation, which is the cause of progress."* 
The play-life of our nineteenth century babies be- 
gins with the same object, and the only genuine 
toy to be found in all Africa (says a traveler) is a 

The second toy was, doubtless, a doll, for that 
iascinating object has been in use from the ear- 
liest times of which we have any record, by all 
peoples, barbarous or civilized. The English name 
is said by some of the wise men to be a nickname 
for Dorothea, while others think it a contraction of 
"idol." When we see the affection of little people 
for their dolls, this origin seems probable. The 
French call a &o\\ poupe'e and the Germans puppe. 
The pronunciation differs in the two languages, but 
both names come from the Latin pupa, a girl. 

The dignified science of history is too much 
taken up with stories of the wars and troubles of 
grown-up people to tell us what the little ancients 
used to play with ; but we have found out many 
things in spite of the big books. Out of the ground 

* See ""Jack-in-the- 

are being dug, nowadays, ruined cities and treas- 
ures of the people of long ago, among them the 
precious toys of children. Thus we have found out 
that the little people of the island of Cyprus, in the 
Mediterranean, who lived three thousand years 
ago, had toys of terra cotta, figures of animals, of 
horses on platforms which ran on four terra cotta 
wheels, with riders of curious form, some on their 
knees, and others holding in each arm a large jar; 
donkeys with panniers, two-wheeled vehicles like 
our drays, and chariots with horses and drivers. 
Then they had a representation of some game, — 
whether of child or man, — several figures with 
joined hands, dancing around one standing still; 
perhaps some antique play of " Oats, pease, 
beans." There were also figures shaped like a 
jumping-jack, a mother with a baby in her arms, 
and, above all, dolls of all sizes and shapes, and 
all with smiling 
faces. To be ^t 
sure we can I J . \ ', : , • 
not be certain 
that these were 
the playthings 
of children, — 
the learned ex- 
plorer calls , 
them "stat- 
uettes," and 

1 1 


other names, — but the)' are certainly very suitable 
for the youngsters, and all of you who live in, or 

Pulpit," June, 1877. 

l8 7 9-] 



visit, New York, can see them any day at the 
Metropolitan Museum. If they were not toys, they 
ought to have been. 

The ancient little Egyptian, three or four thou- 
sand years ago, had dolls, painted to represent 
clothes, with arms and legs moving on pins by 
means of strings, so that if they could n't take off 
their clothes, they could move about. Some were 
very rude, without limbs, and for hair they had thick 
and long strings of beads. They had also figures 
washing, or kneading 
bread, which could be 
worked by pulling 
strings, and crocodiles 
which would open their 
mouths by the same 
means. The British 
Museum has quite a 
collection of ancient 
Egyptian toys ; balls 
covered with leather, 
foot-balls, marbles, small 
fish, and other things. 
Some of the balls are 
stuffed with bran or 
husks, others are made 
of rushes, plaited and 
covered with leather, 
and others of painted 
earthenware, probably 
only to look at. 

The first toy of the 
ancient Greek baby was 
a rattle-box, then came 
— as he grew — dolls of 
clay (a sort of coarse 
china doll), figures of 
animals, apes, with their 
little ones, ducks, tor- 
toises, and others. Then 
they had small wooden 
wagons, to which they 
harnessed live mice, 
horses and ships made 
of leather, chickens, and 
jack-stones (called by a 
long Greek name.) 
Your " Jack-in-the-Pul- 
pit " told you of them once in St. Nicholas for 
April, 1877. Tops were among the earliest play- 
things of the Greeks, and were well known in Rome 
in the time of Virgil. One old writer says that a 
woman, named Anagalia, of Corcyra, made the 
first ball. However that may be, we know that 
ladies used to play ball in those days. 

So much for ancient playthings. It is evident 
that little folks were amused ; let us see what they 


are playing with to-day. Begin with the " Cradle 
of Nations," the mother of us all, — Asia. It is said 
that the religion of Mohammed forbids toys, but, if 
so, it does not prevent little Mohammedans of 
Central Asia from having balls and tops, and even 
rag-dolls, which travelers say are not very pretty, 
by the way. Also of terra cotta they have horses, 
cattle, dogs, fish, chickens, lions, and donkeys with 
pack saddles. In Western Asia, dolls with arms 
and legs moved by strings, like a jumping-jack, 
comic figures, whistles, 
marbles, and other 

The children of India 
fare better than many 
Asiatics about toys. 
The girls have dolls 
made of wood, cut out 
all dressed, and painted 
in gay colors, as though 
they wore real clothes. 
They have them of all 
sizes, and, indeed, the 
doll is a very important 
member of the family. 
"In many houses dolls 
have a room to them- 
selves, and enjoy as 
much attention as chil- 
dren. Feasts and gar- 
den parties are given in 
their honor. The death 
of one involves a great 
show of mourning, and 
the marriage of one is 
a public event." A 
Bengal paper gives an 
account of the wedding 
of two dolls belonging 
to very wealthy Hin- 
du families. There was 
a grand procession 
through the streets as 
though they were two 
people, followed by an 
expensive feast to the 
friends and the poor. 
Besides dolls, curi- 
ously dressed in paint and gilt, with ears of some 
bright color, spots on nose and chin, and a head 
that "comes off," — though the clothes do not, — 
the Hindu children have elephants and other ani- 
mals of wonderful shapes and colors, with stripes 
and dots and stars of various colors and gilt, with 
ears that come off! 

To speak of China makes one think of lanterns, 
fire-works, and kites, though perhaps no one of 




them belongs exclusively to the children. The men 
fly kites, let off fire-works, and light lanterns. The 
lanterns of China are really wonderful. They are 
of every shape, color, and design — round, square, 
flat ; some in the shapes of animals, and some of 
men ; some roll on the ground and keep burning ; 
others, shaped like horses, run on wheels ; some 
whirl like a top ; some gallop like a horse ; there 
are ships that sail, soldiers that march, and people 
that dance. The power that works them is the 
current of hot air from the light. Some lanterns 
are made of red paper, with patterns made by 
holes ; others are covered with painted gauze ; 



\ : fc 

■si <6 

some are carried in ... " : ' '■*$''•. ~ . ' 

the hand, and some ""S*^ 8 '.'. • 
are made so as to — s * v- •---" -- 

stick on the wall. "playing build a hut." 

The real "Paradise of Babies" is Japan, — as 
has been said many times, — for not only do the 
children have every imaginable toy, but many per- 

* March, 

sons get their living by amusing them. Men go 
about the streets and blow soap bubbles for them 
with pipes that have „.. 

no bowls as ours have. 
These young Japs have , 
tops, stilts, pop-guns, . 
blow-guns, magic Ian- •;.' 
terns, kaleidoscopes, 
wax-figures, terra cotta 
animals, flying-fish and 
dragons, masks, puz- 
zles, and games ; but- 
terflies and beetles that 
flutter about ; turtles 
that move their legs 
and pop out their 
heads ; birds that fly 
about, and peck the fingers and whistle ; paste- 
board targets that, when hit, burst open and let a 
winged figure fly out ; and — 
most wonderful of all, perhaps 
; ■ ',. , — little balls looking like elder 

pith, which, thrown into bowls 
of warm water, slowly expand 
into the shape of a boat, or a 
fisherman, a tree, flower, 
crab, or bird. 

The girls of Japan have 
dolls' furniture and dishes, 
and, of course, dolls. They 
have dolls that walk and 
dance ; dolls that put on a 
mask when a string is pulled; 
dolls dressed to represent no- 
bles, ladies, minstrels, myth- 
ological and historical per- 
sonages. Dolls are handed 
down for generations, and in 
some families are hundreds 
of them. They never seem 
to get broken or worn out, as 
yours do ; and, in fact, they 
can hardly be the dear play- 
mates that yours are. They 
are kept as a sort of show; 
and, though the little owners 
fe*V- pW with them, they do not 

dress and undress them and 
take them to bed, as you do. 
A good deal of the time they are rolled up in silk 
paper and packed away in a trunk. On the great 
festival day of the Japanese girls, — the Feast of 
Dolls, of which St. Nicholas has told you,* — 
there is a great show of dolls and toys, and it is 
the event of the year for the queer little black-eyed 
maidens. The Feast of Flags is the boys' great 
day, and they have banners, flags, figures of war- 




riors and great men, 
swords, and other 
toys for boys.* 

But the finest toy 
of Japan — as no 
doubt all you young- 
sters will agree — is 
carried about the 
streets by a man or 
woman, for any child 
to play with who is 
the owner of the 
hundredth part of a 
cent, or one "cash." 

This is a small 
charcoal stove with 
hot coals, a copper 
griddle, spoons and 
cups ; and, above all, 
ready-made batter 
happy child whohires 

sit down on the floor and cook and eat " griddle- 
cakes " to its heart's content. Could anything be 
nicer ? 

Perhaps you boys would prefer to patronize the 

"to make them 


and sauce. The 
this outfit 

them will draw a load of rice up quite a hill — made 
of a board. 

The unfortunate babies of Africa have very few 
playthings, except what they make themselves. 
One traveler did see a rattle- 
box which a baby could not 
have made, as I said above. 
It was formed of a kind of 
fruit that has a tough rind 
and hard seeds, by squeezing 
the pulp out while green, 
and leaving the seeds to dry 
inside the hard skin. The solemn-faced black 
baby shook his toy with as much gravity as our ba- 
bies shake theirs. Mr. Wood tells of leather dolls 
made by the Kaffirs ; but they were made for the 
white man's mu- 
seum, and not for .'<..•./,.,;..,, 
Kaffir children to •'--'■' ■•"■■.;■,,. . •/. '. 
play with. r -, _ '■'■',• V/V-v/. 

The girls 


- I 


" Bug Man," who fastens paper carts to the backs Damaras are fond of dolls; but they like them best 
of beetles with bits of wax, and a half-dozen of alive, so they take puppies for the purpose, and 

VOL. VII. — 2. * See St. Nicholas, May, 1875. 




carry them about tied to their backs, as their 
mothers carry babies. The clumsy puppy faces 
look funny enough sticking out of the bandages. 

New-Zealand girls have a still stranger taste ; 
they " play baby " with little pigs ! They don't 
need your sympathy ; they are fond of them, and 
carry them about from 
morning to night, under 
their mantles. The boys 
of the same country have 
tops, and three-cornered 
kites made of leaves, and 
they always sing while the 
kite flies. Besides, they 
play " cat's cradle," in 
which they make many 
more figures than we do, 
such as huts, men and _. 
women, and others. 5|| 

The Wezee boys play 
shoot with a gun made to 
imitate the "white man's ■" 
gun." Two pieces of cane 
tied together make the 
barrels, the stock is made 
of clay, and the smoke is 
a tuft of loose cotton. 

In one African tribe 
the youngsters have spears 
made of reeds, shields, 
bows and arrows, with 
which they imitate their 
fathers' doings ; and they 
make animals out of clay, 
while their sisters "jump 
the rope." Besides, Afri- 
cans, like children all over 

the world, enjoy themselves "making pretend." 
They imitate the life around them, as you do ; not 
playing "keep house," " go visiting," or " give a 
party," to be sure, because they see none of thes 
in their homes; they pretend building a hut, hoein 
a garden, making clay jars, and crushing corn to 

What do the native South-American babies do 
for toys ? Do without, I was going to say ; bu 
they do have blow-pipes of reeds, and they, too, 
mimic the various doings of grown-ups. 

Now for Europe. A list of toys made in that con- 
tinent would read like an inventory of a toy-shop. 
It is curious that even there, where there is so much 
interchange between the people, each nation makes 
its peculiar toys. Our shops bring toys from sev- 
eral of them, and they are quite different. From 
Germany we get our "box toys," — sets of stiff 
wooden soldiers, villages, farm-yards, tea-sets, and 
everything that comes in an oval wooden box. The 

patient German workmen make 
wooden dolls and hobby-horses, 
Noah's arks, spotted horses on 
wheels, toys that go 
by the dropping of 
sand, such as wind- 

mills, ships that rock, and men that 
dance. Above all, they make mar- 
bles. In one place, the very roads 
are paved with marbles not quite 
round. Toys, of lead — soldiers and 
horses, camels, chariots and ships 
of war, locomotives, and others — nearly all come 
from Nuremburg, while tin toys — horses, steam- 
engines, steamers, etc. — come from another city. 

Toys are very cheap in Germany, because of the 
division of work. A peasant will make one or two 
things all his life, and, of course, he comes to do his 
special work very rapidly. A traveler visited an old 
German woman, who had learned from her mother 
to cut out six animals from wood. They were a 
cat, dog, wolf, sheep, goat, elephant. She had cut 
these all her life, and could not cut anything else. 
It was her trade, and she had taught her daughter 
and her granddaughter, as a life work, to cut these 
six animals. In one house, they will perhaps do 
nothing but paint gray horses with black spots; in 
another, only red horses with white spots. 

Glass beads, or many of them, come from Ven- 
ice. France sends us, first of all, wonderful young- 
lady dolls, with various accomplishments and the 
completest wardrobes and outfits; then clock-work 

i8 7 9-l 



toys, masks, sabers, muskets, and all kinds of 
warlike toys. 

England is scarcely behind Japan in variety of 
playthings. To begin with the best known and 
widest spread of all toys — the doll. England makes 
the most beautiful wax dolls in the world, though I 
must say the most marvelous doll I ever heard of 
was owned by Vasilissa the Fair, of Russia, and 
was able to help her mistress out of trouble by do- 
ing the hard tasks set for her, while she rested her- 
self. But this doll, I fear, never lived out of the 
story books. To return to England's dolls : they 
have real hair, set in the scalp, and not a paltry 
wig; they have glass eyes, each of which is made 
separately, and is a work of art. There are sixteen 
manufactories of dolls in London alone. 

The London doll special is the rag-baby, and a 
very pretty thing it is, just beginning to come over 
to our babies. The head is of wax covered with 
very thin muslin, which gives it a peculiarly soft 
and babyish look, and makes it strong enough for 
a live baby to play with. Dolls' boots and shoes 
are also an English trade. 

Next to the doll, in that busy island, comes the 
boat. These are made of all sizes and prices, from 
one costing a dime up to six or eight dollars. At 
one house are used eight tons of lead in one year, 
for keels alone. England makes, also, mimic the- 
aters, with characters and plays all ready, rubber 
toys of many kinds, toy picture-books, and thou- 
sands of other things. 

There are some ancient English toys told about 
in books. They were in the days when men-at- 
arms fought on horseback, and the toys consisted 
of knights on horseback, completely armed and 
equipped, and fastened to platforms on wheels. 
They were of brass, and four or five inches high. 
To play with them, they were drawn together with 
force, to see which knight would be thrown off by 
the shock. 

In America, — to begin with the natives, — the In- 
dian children living in wigwams in the Far West, 
have their playthings, though they are somewhat 
rude. The boys play with bows and arrows, and the 
girls with dolls, or a substitute for them. The dolls 
are of rags, with hideous faces painted on them, and 
daubed with streaks of red, in the style admired by 
the race. To these, however, they prefer a live 
plaything, — or a " meat baby," as a little girl once 
said, — so they make pets of ravens, young eagles, 
and puppies. A young Indian girl is often seen 
with the wise head of one of these birds, or the fat, 
round face of a puppy, sticking out of her blanket 
behind. They also imitate the life of their moth- 
ers, and rig an arrangement with two poles crossed 
on the back of a dog, as the squaws do on the back 
of a horse, on which queer vehicle they carry jars 

of water, or anything they choose. The babies of 
the Indians, strapped into their cradles, play with 
the dangling string of beads or other article which 
is hung before their faces to make them squint, 
that being considered a great beauty. 

You are indebted to Mr. H. W. Elliott, who has 
spent years in the Far North, and knows all about 
them, for a most interesting account of the play- 
things of the Eskimo children, who spend five or 
six months of every year in an underground hut, 
when the day is nearly as dark as the night, and 
all the family must find amusement within. 

Toys they have in plenty, and they are twice as 

useful as our toys; for, making them entertains and 

occupies the parents, and 

playing with them does 


the same for the 

(if**:- h- ' 

children. From 

|^ ivory they 

M'*A. carve the 

' "s* \ animals 

' ■'-% of their 


' ' ■ : : ' , > coun- 


try, — bears, wolves, 


rus, seals and whales. 
These are quite small, 
none more than three 
inches long, and many not more than one inch, 
but so well carved that the animal is easily rec- 

For the boys, are made small ivory or wooden 
spears, arrows, lances and sleds, and, above all, 




toy kyacks, or boats, and even imitations of the 
"big boat," or ship of the stranger, with sinews, 
or the roots of a peculiar grass for the rigging. 

But here — as everywhere — the 
doll is the grand toy. No wax, 
china, rubber, or rags will do for 
the Eskimo doll. It is made ot 
ivory or wood, carefully carved 
as nearly like the human figure 
as possible, with eyes of bits of 
pearly shell, inlaid. Some of 
them are twelve or eighteen 
inches tall, but most of them 
are six or eight inches only. As 
to the manner of playing with ^gg*J 
them, I suppose the Eskimo 
boys play seal-catching, bear- 
hunting, sledge-riding, and dog- 
training ; and the girls keep 
house with their ivory dollies, 
get the meals and make the 
clothes, all in Eskimo fashion. 

It is pleasant to know that the droll little round- 
faced Eskimo babies have nice limes, and plenty 

of playthings in their homes, that seem to us so 


Our own toy-shops have all the wonders of Euro- 
pean make, but the kinds we 
invent ourselves are mostly me- 
chanical toys, — creeping dolls, 
bears that perform, horsemen 
that drive furiously, boatmen 
that row, steam cars that go ; 
and we have a monopoly of base 
balls and bats, for no other peo- 
ple use them. None but En- 
glish-speaking people indulge in 
plays so violent as to be danger- 
ous to life and limb, as is our 
base ball, and the cricket of our 
English cousins. 

When we begin to talk of 
these games we reach the amuse- 
ments of the grown-ups, which 
perhaps they would n't like 
to have called " playthings," 

though — between you and me — they are just as 

much toys as are dolls and tops. 

By Miriam Alden. 

tell ye, Micky, 
a shtroke o' good 
luck is afther 
comin' til us, and 
all through the 
freshet, that 's 
dalin' destruction 
to others. Ye 
know Danny Ca- 
sey that 's livin' 
in the shanty, on 
the very edge of 
the river, on the 
other side? It 's 
the freshet is car- 
ryin' him away, 
entirely, and he 
not havin' time to get anythin' but the childer and 
the bit o' furniture to a safe place, an' he havin' as 
beautiful a litter o' pigs as iver was, siven o' them, 
and not a week old, and the wather, and the big 
blocks of ice floatin' up, and washin' over the pen ! 
An' says he to me, says Danny, says he, ' Mrs. Mc- 

Glinty, I know you 're a poor, lone, widdy woman, 
and the bit and the sup for the childer is hard to 
get, and you 're welcome to three o' my pigs, as 
foine pigs as iver you seen, an' me movin' into the 
loft over the Company's store, where the wife and 
the childer '11 be warrm and safe, but pigs is not 
allowed.' An' the ould one, and four of the little 
ones he 's afther sellin' to a man from Oil City, for 
a good price, so Danny '11 not be losin', an' it 's 
rich they '11 be, afther givin' us three foine young 
pigs, an' it 's beautiful an' fat, an' worth a dale 
they '11 be agin fall ! But my tongue runs away 
wid me, and it 's drownding the foine little pigs is 
by this time as like as not ! Run, Micky, darlin', 
wid the big basket, an' put sthraw in it an' the bit 
of an' ould shawl to cover them, for it 's tinder 
plants young pigs is ! " 

The few last remarks of Mrs. McGlinty were 
screamed from the open door, for Micky, no less 
delighted than his mother at the prospect of pos- 
sessing " three foine pigs," had already started, on 
the run. And before he reached the bridge he had 
seen, in his mind's eye, the tails of those pigs 




gradually straighten out of their quirks, as they 
advanced to mature pighood ; had seen them 
weighted with flesh beyond any pigs that ever 
lifted up their squeals in Clarion County, had seen 
them sold, and had seen his mother's broad face 
aglow with delight over a heap of money that 
would buy them all warm clothes, and plenty to 
eat for the winter. For Micky, though he was only 

The iron mills were near the bank of the river, 
and the men had left their work to look at the ris- 
ing river. Micky heard one of them prophesy that 
the bridge would go. He paused in his run for 
one moment. What if he should be swept away 
with the bridge, and drowned ? His mother would 
be worse off without him than without the pigs; 
the wages that he earned in the mills were all that 


eleven, was the man of the family, and had taken 
a great deal of care and responsibility upon his 
shoulders, ever since the death of his father, more 
than a year before. 

Micky found a crowd of people lining the banks 
of the river. It had rained, steadily, for five days, 
and the river was rising rapidly. It was full of ice, 
— huge blocks, that leaped and slid over each 
other, almost as if they we*e living things. It had 
been the most severe winter for many years, and 
the ice was of wonderful thickness. A great many 
logs and timbers were floating among the blocks of 
ice, with the roof of a shanty, a hen-coop, and a 
broken chair and portions of a light wooden bridge. 

she had to depend upon, except the washing which 
she found to do now and then. Mr. Ludlow, the 
superintendent of the mills, was standing at the 
entrance of the bridge. 

"Will the bridge go, sir?" said Micky, out of 
breath, his red hair standing out straight, under 
his rimless cap, and his freckled face fiery with ex- 

" Pooh ! have they been trying to scare you, 
my boy?" said Mr. Ludlow, a red-faced, jolly 
man, who was always very kind to Micky. "There 
is n't a stancher bridge on the Alleghany ! " 

Mr. Ludlow was authority for Micky. He never 
thought of questioning his opinion. With one 




bound he was on the bridge, running, not for life, 
— he had not a shadow of fear since Mr. Ludlow 
had pronounced the bridge safe, — but for the pigs, 
almost as dear as life. Danny Casey's shanty 
looked as if it were almost submerged ; what if the 
pigs had already found a watery grave ? That 
thought lent redoubled swiftness to Micky's feet. 
In almost as short a time as it takes to tell it, he 
reached Danny Casey's deserted shanty. He only 
cast one glance at the shanty, and rushed to the 
pig-pen. It was completely under water! The 
blow was too much for Micky to bear calmly ; he 
thrust his fists into his eyes, and uttered a pro- 
longed Irish howl. 

" Is it the Widely McGlinty's bye ye are ? " called 
a voice from a neighboring house, higher and drier 
than Danny Casey's, and an old Irishwoman ap- 
proached with her capacious apron filled with a 
squealing mass, which proved to be the three little 
pigs. " Danny left 'em wid me, and well he did, 
wid the murtherin' wather covering the place in- 
tirely ! " 

Micky's mourning was suddenly turned to joy. 
He placed his treasures tenderly in his basket, 
amidst the straw, and covered them with the piece 
of a warm shawl which he had brought, and their 
squealings gave place to piggish grunts of satisfac- 
tion. The crowd on both sides of the river had 
increased, Micky noticed, as he took his way home- 
ward, but everybody had left the bridge. 

" Look here, boy, I don't know as you had bet- 
ter go across there. I aint sure that it 's safe ! " 
called a man. 

"Pooh!" said Micky, imitating Mr. Ludlow. 
" There don't be a standisher bridge on the Alle- 
ghany ! " 

And he ran along, without a thought of fear. It 
had never occurred to Micky, in all his life, that 
Mr. Ludlow could be mistaken. 

He ran very fast, and looked neither to the right 
nor the left, he was in such haste for his mother 
to see the pigs ; there never were quite such pigs, 
Micky thought, — so white, so plump, and with 
such bewitching quirks in their tails ! 

Suddenly there was a great shouting on the 
banks; everybody was looking and pointing up 
the river. A great mass of ice-blocks, piled high, 
one above another, wedged together into a solid, 
glittering iceberg, was sweeping down toward the 
bridge. Micky was only a little more than half 
way over. In spite of Mr. Ludlow his knees shook. 
That great, massive thing, sweeping along so 
swiftly, must carry everything before it ! 

There was a great shock. It seemed to Micky, 
as he said afterward, "as if the woruld and the 
sky had come together wid a bang ! " A heaving 
and creaking of timbers, a crashing of masonry ! 

The bridge divided into three parts; the great 
mass of ice went crashing through, driving the 
middle portion of the bridge almost entirely under 
water. The icy pile seemed almost like a living 
thing, powerful and relentless, treading a defense- 
less object under its feet. 

Where was Micky ? He had just stepped off the 
middle portion, which the iceberg crushed be- 
neath it ; he was floating down the river on that 
part of the bridge which was near his own shore. 
But he was too far from the shore ever to reach it, 
thought Micky. There was a great commotion on 
the bank; hurrying to and fro, and shouting, but 
there seemed to be no way to release him from his 
dangerous position. Just here the water was com- 
paratively free from ice. The great mass in its 
onward rush had swept it almost clear. But 
there were signs that this mass had been weakened 
by its collision with the bridge, and was about to 
break up into blocks ; and, when the trembling, 
creaking, wooden raft upon which Micky was 
afloat got into the midst of great blocks of ice, it 
would almost inevitably be broken in pieces, or 
submerged. Some men were running as fast as 
possible down along the shore, probably hoping 
that Micky's frail craft would float near enough to 
the shore for them to rescue him, before it got 
among the dangerous ice blocks. It did drift 
nearer the shore ; but the next moment the relent- 
less ice blocks were around it, pushing it farther 
out toward the middle of the river. It pitched 
and tossed, now riding over the blocks and sheets 
of ice, now pushed almost entirely under them ; 
great planks and timbers were torn from it. 

" The saints preserve us ! " cried Micky. " The 
pigs an' me '11 niver get home ! " 

The raft was drifting nearer the shore, but alas ! 
it was going to pieces surely and swiftly. 

" Jump ! jump on to the ice cake ! " cried voices 
from the shore. 

He could see Mr. Ludlow pointing frantically to 
a large cake of ice which was floating by him. 
But the space between him and the cake was so 
wide that Micky was afraid he could not leap it, 
encumbered, as he was, by the basket. 

"Never mind the basket! leave the basket!" 
cried voices from the shore. 

" Is it lave the pigs, ye say? Niver !" shouted 
Micky, angrily. 

But the boards were giving way under his feet, 
and he jumped, basket and all — and reached the 
ice cake. " Hurrah !• went up from the shore, 
whither anxiety with regard to Micky's fate had led 
the crowd which had witnessed the giving way of 
the bridge, nearly half a mile farther up the river. 

But Micky's feet went out from under him as he 
came down, in his flying leap, on the slippery cake 

l8 7 9-] 



of ice. The shock sent the basket, with its precious 
contents flying. It rolled over and over, and into 
the water, before Micky could catch it ! But two 
of the " foine little pigs" were sprawling on the 
ice, squealing as if they fully realized the dan- 
gers through which they were passing — the other 
had uttered his last squeal, as he went overboard 
with the basket. 

Micky's perils were not yet over, and he knew 
it, but yet the first cry he had uttered was for the 
loss of the pig. The cake of ice on which he stood 
was drifting toward the shore, but soon it might 
be steered out toward the middle of the river by 
other blocks. But some kind influence seemed to 
guide it ; now it was very near the shore. The 
men had tried to launch a little boat, but near the 
shore the blocks of ice were so close together that 
it was impossible. Mr. Ludlow and one or two 
others walked out, stepping from block to block, 
to within a few yards of Micky's ice-raft. 

"Now is your time, Micky!" called Mr. Lud- 
low, as the cake floated near. "Jump, and if you 
go into the water we '11 catch you ! " 

Micky clutched his pigs tightly, one under each 
arm, and prepared to jump. 

" Let the pigs go ! " called Mr. Ludlow, angrily. 

But even Mr. Ludlow's command was not suf- 
ficient to make Micky desert the pigs. 

" I could 'nt go home to the mother, sirr, widout 
the pigs, an' her depindin' on 'em ! " said Micky. 

But alas ! one of the squirming, squealing creat- 
ures dropped as he jumped, and Micky went up 
the river bank amid the shouts and congratulations 
of the crowd, happy that he was safe on land, of 
course, but with a great pang at his heart because 
he had only one pig left. 

" How can I go home wid but the won pig, an' 
she depindin' on 'em to buy the warrm clothes next 
winter? " he cried. 

"O, that's it, is it?" said Mr. Ludlow. "Well, 
I '11 make that loss up to you — I ought to do it, be- 
cause I told you the bridge was safe." 

"Pass round the hat — let's pay for the two 
pigs ! " said one of the bystanders. 

The hat was passed round. Two members of 
the iron company, rich men from New York, were 
there, and two or three oil princes. Every man 
gave something. I would n't dare to tell you how 
well those two pigs were paid for, lest you should 
doubt my veracity. Micky thought it was too 
good to be true. 

Mrs. McGlinty had just heard of Micky's peril, 
and met him on his way home. She was too 
happy to see him safe and sound, to think of the 
pigs. But when Micky poured his pile of money 
into her lap, she shed tears of joy. 

"The saints be praised! The foine little pigs 
was a sthroke of luck, after all ! " she cried. 

And the little pig who survived such perils lived 
to be a great comfort to Mrs. McGlinty. 


know a little maiden who can knit and who can sew, 

Who can tuck her little petticoat ; and tie a pretty bow ; 

She can give the thirsty window-plants a cooling drink each day; 

And dust the pretty sitting-room, and drive the flies away. 

She can fetch Papa his dressing-gown, and warm his slippers well, 
And lay the plates, and knives and forks, and ring the supper-bell ; 
She can learn her lessons carefully, and say them with a smile, 
Then put away her books and slate and atlas, in a pile ; 
She can feed the bright canary, and put water in his cage ; 
And soothe her little brother when he flies into a rage. 
She can dress and tend her dollies like a mother, day or night, — 
Indeed, one-half the good she does, I cannot now recite ; 
And yet there are some things, I 'm told, this maiden cannot do. 
She cannot say an ugly word, or one that is not true; — 
Who can this little maiden be ? I wonder if it 's you,. 





By "Raja.' 

Only two minutes ago, mamma tucked little 
Irene into her warm bed, and kissed her good- 
night, and here stands the white-robed child at the 
window looking — looking so intently that she does 
not hear the footsteps at the door. What is it that 
has drawn her with such magnetic force from her 
nest? is it the wonderful landscape, the fields and 
trees and hills all covered with snow and flooded 
with moonlight? No, for her eyes are turned to 
the sky and fixed upon the yellow moon. 

"Why, Miss Irene, you naughty child," cries 
nurse, suddenly coming in, " what are you doing 
there by the window ? Don't you know that you '11 
catch your death of cold unless you go back to bed 
this minute? " 

" I am looking at my dear moon," answers Irene, 
allowing herself to be again stowed away between 
the blankets. "I was thinking if the yesterdays 
went up there, Katy : do they, I wonder? Where 
do they go?" 

"Mercy! Miss Irene, how should I know? 
When they 're gone, they 're gone, that 's all I care 
about, and it 's the to-morrows that bring the 
wrinkles and the gray hairs, though to be sure, 
you 're not likely to think of these for some time 
to come. Good-night, now, and don't get out of 
bed again." 

"No, I will not," answers Irene, and goes on 
thinking to herself. 

"I wonder what is up there; how I should like 
to go up and see ! Nurse says the moon is all 
made of green cheese, and papa says there is n't 
any old man, but I can't believe either of them, 
and " 

A beautiful star-queen comes gliding in through 
the window, followed by a train of tiny thought- 
fairies, — fair thoughts, queer thoughts, tricksy 
thoughts, ill-natured thoughts, and good. For a 
moment the tricksy thoughts try to drive away the 
better ones, but they do not succeed ; and soon 
Tom, the sweetest of the thought-fairies, whispers 
into Irene's ear, — the star-queen waves her wand 
and all the odd little forms vanish and twelve 
lovely stars come dancing in at the window. They 
hold out their hands to the dazzled and bewildered 

"Come quickly, darling; come quickly," they 
sing, "we have seen you watching us often, and 
we love you, and now we are going to take you up 
to the moon. Make haste, pretty one ! " 

And be ore Irene can think of what she is doing, 
she finds herself in the arms of the stars, floating 
gently through the air. Oh, how beautiful the 
white earth looks, as she rises far above it ! 

A little breeze rustles about with an important 
air, and tells a great secret to the evergreens. 

"What do you think? The stars are taking a lit- 
tle girl up to the moon." And the snow whispers 
to the poor little violets who are imprisoned under- 
ground and cannot see what is going on in the 
world, "Little Irene has gone to look for the yes- 

Higher and higher rise the stars, bearing with 
them the happy child. They are singing sweet 
melodies to her; they are telling her wonderful 
tales of star life. 

"Oh, I am all alone, says Irene, suddenly, and 
looks about her in dismay. What odd place is this 
that she sees ? She is standing in the midst of a 
great field, which is covered with grass and stones : 
there are a few trees to be seen, but there is not 
a hill in sight, and what makes it all so strange, is 
that the grass, the stones, the trees and the flowers 
are of a bright yellow color. 

" Well, I never ! " cries Irene, and wonders what 
she shall do next. 

"Ahem ! " says a voice close at her side ; and 
turning quickly around she perceives a little man 
not more than three feet high, who is dressed all 
in yellow, and whose cap is covered with bells. 

"Good-evening, my dear," he replies in a 
pleasant tone. "I am glad to see you up here. 
It is not often that a human child finds her way to 
the moon, but she is sure of a welcome if she does 

"You are very kind," answers Irene, quite re- 
lieved by the cordiality of his words. "Are you 
the man in the moon ? " 

"One of the men in the moon, my dear; but 
perhaps not the one of whom you are thinking. 
I never have been to Norwich," with a merry look 
and a sideways glance at the little girl. "My 
name is Father Gander." 

" Indeed ! " says Irene. 

"Yes; my wife is the famous Mother Goose. 
You 've read her books, have n't you ? " 

"I've read one of them," answers Irene; "a 
book of — of — poems ; but I did n't know that she 
had written any others." 

"Oh, well," replies Father Gander, "the book 

l8 7 9-] 






of melodies is her best-known work. But in reality 
half of the books in your world are the productions 
of her mind ; for she dictates to mortals and they 
write. Still, they never give her the credit, which 
is a piece of gross injustice, according to my way 
of thinking. However, her style is unmistakable ; 
that is my only comfort." 

While Father Gander is talking, he has gently 
led Irene across the fields, and the two now find 
themselves upon the brink of what seems like a 
yawning precipice. 

"If you please," says Irene, "what is this 
hole ? " 

"It is one of the spots which you have often 
seen upon the surface of the moon," answers Father 
Gander, "and which many of you mortals imagine 
to be mountains. In reality, they are the passages 
which lead to our home." 

Irene gives him a questioning glance, and he 
replies : 

" You know that we do not live on the outside 
of the moon, but in the interior." 

" Oh, why, how dark it must be in your houses," 
ventures Irene, "unless you have gas." 

" You shall see," returns her guide ; " now just 
close your eyes for a moment." 

Irene complies, and, upon re-opening her eyes, 
finds herself in a most wonderful spot. She is in a 
large and brilliantly beautiful hall ; so far from be- 
ing dark, it is flooded with light which proceeds 
from millions of tiny winged creatures that flit 
about the place. As Irene learns from Father 
Gander's explanations, these insects are called 
ignes fatui, — creatures which have come to live in 
the moon, because on the earth people doubt their 
existence ; and though, in the world, they are 
rather uncertain and misleading lights, in the moon 
they are forced to behave. The walls of this 
apartment are blazing with precious gems, and 
Irene scarcely dares to stir, for the whole floor is 
composed of diamonds and pearls. But now 
Father Gander is presenting to her a crowd of 
strange beings, who gather about the new-comers; 
here are all the well-known characters of the 
"Mother Goose Melodies"; here are the ogres 
and dwarfs of ancient fable, and here the beloved 
fairies with Oberon and Titania at their head. 
Irene just laughs a glad little laugh, and cries in 
joyful surprise : 

" Why, here you are all of you, you dear, lovely 
old things ! And, just to think ! They told me 
you were ' make-believes ! ' " 

" We came up to the moon, dear child," an- 
swered Titania, "because Doubt always drives us 
away. We live here, and we are merry enough 
•' all the time. But how did you manage to reach 
our home?" 

" The little stars brought me up to see the Yes- 

" Ah, the Yesterdays," says the queen, gently, 
and all the bright creatures about echo, very softly, 
" The Yesterdays ! " 

Then there is a short silence. 

" Memory !" calls the queen, and, in answer to 
her call, there comes the strangest little man. His 
face is old and wrinkled, and one minute it looks 
sad, while the next it looks as bright and happy as 
possible, and then, again, it appears gay and fanci- 
ful. His voice is changeable, and beginning with 
a sad complaining tone, ends with a sound that is 
not unlike a piece of dance music. 

"Memory," says the queen, "this little girl 
would like to see the Yesterdays." 

Memory gives her a sharp look from head to foot. 

" Come, follow me," he says, "you are one of 
the right kind." 

" Good-bye, dear fairies ; good-bye, all of you ! " 
cries Irene, making a little courtesy to the assem- 
bled company, who all kiss their tiny hands to her 
and ask her to come again. 

Memory leads her through many winding pas- 
sages, and finally pauses before a door; turning a 
key in the lock, he invites her to enter. 

" Oh ! " says Irene. 

For there is a heavy mist before her eyes, and 
she can see only a few indistinct figures moving 
back and forth. 

Memory waves his hand, and mutters a few un- 
intelligible words. The mist vanishes, and Irene 
perceives that she is in a hall, larger and brighter 
than the first, and filled with graceful, beautiful 
women. They move so gently to and fro that they 
seem almost to float upon the air ; and as they glide 
past her, a faint, far-off music reaches her ear, and 
seems like some half-forgotten air. 

" Come in order ! in order ! " calls Memory, and 
a band of white-robed maidens quickly place them- 
selves before the little girl. 

"What Yesterdays are you?" queries Irene. 

"We are the Yesterdays of your infancy," re- 
turns one of the group. 


" All the Yesterdays in the room are yours, dear 
child. You could not see those of other people." 

" I love you," says Irene; "you look so happy." 

" We are happy, for we have nothing to be 
sorry for," say the maidens, as they glide away. 

And now comes another band. Beautiful they 
are, all of them, and light in movement as the 
zephyrs ; but some of the number, sad to say, 
wear upon their faces an expression which is 
anything but peaceful. 

"Why do you frown so?" says Irene to one 
damsel ; " you are not like the rest." 




" Alas !" answers the Yesterday ; "when I was 
' To-day ' you frowned upon all who approached 
you, and I must forever frown." 

"Your voice is harsh and loud " began 


" Your voice was harsh and loud," was the 

Irene is silent. Then she passes on to the next 
bright form. 

" Oh, you are prettier than all the rest ! And 
what beautiful flowers ! " and she takes hold of the 
Yesterday's garland of roses, but draws back with 
a cry of pain. " It pricked me ! Why did you not 
tell me of the thorn ? " 

"Ah," says the Yesterday, mournfully, "when 
I was 'To-day' you were full of happiness and 
glee, but your pleasures stung, for they were sel- 
fish. You had no thought of any one but your- 

" Come here, dear Yesterday ! " calls Irene to a 
third, but she does not stir. 

" I will not come ; for, when I was ' To-day,' 
you were a disobedient child." 

" I cannot come, for you were jealous of your 
little brother," murmurs a fourth, covering her 

"Nor I, for you were uncharitable, and spoke 
unkind words of a little playmate," says a fifth. 

" Nor I, because your thoughts were discon- 
tented," says a sixth. 

Little Irene casts down her eyes, a few tears run 
down her cheeks, her breast heaves, and, bursting 
into sobs, she sinks upon the ground and buries 
her face in her hands. 

"Oh, Yesterdays, I am so sorry ! oh, I am so 
sorry ! " 

" Don't be discouraged, little one," says Mem- 
ory, kindly; " look up, — here are more coming." 

And through her tears Irene sees the most beau- 
tiful Yesterday of all, whose face is covered with 

"When / was ' To-day,'" she says in a low, 
sweet tone, "you were kind, and unselfish, and 
pleasant to every one whom you saw. You had lit- 
tle trials and vexations, but your lips smiled on just 
the same ; you had temptations, but you resisted 
them; your feet were weary,but you ran to help your 
tired mother ; you answered gently when a rough 

boy spoke to you in angry tones, and you prayed 
for him that night, although he had made your 
heart ache." 

Oh, how bright grows Irene's face, as she turns 
to welcome the next Yesterday ! She is clothed in 
sad-colored garments, but her eyes are full of a 
sweet, holy light, and she clasps the little girl in 
her arms. 

"When I was 'To-day,'" she whispers, "poor 
Irene bore a bitter sorrow, for her loved father left 
the world for ever. But her troubles only turned 
her eyes heavenward, and though she wept and 
mourned for him whom she had loved so dearly, 
she strove to lose all thought of self, and comfort 
her heart-broken mother." 

Irene gives a deep sigh and says : 

" Yes, I remember you very well. You were 
sad, dear Yesterday ; but you were the best of all." 

" Sorrow is never hurtful in the end, if it is 
rightly met," murmurs the Yesterday. 

" I have seen enough now, Memory," says 
Irene, quietly; "but tell me, Yesterdays, do you 
always stay here ? " 

"We stay here, love, until you leave the world, 
and then we go with you to the Beautiful Land. 
There the Holy One will see us." 

" Oh no — no !" cries Irene, clasping her hands. 
He must not see the wicked Yesterdays, the cross, 
the selfish, disobedient Yesterdays. It hurts me in 
my heart to think that He will see them. Will it 
be so?" 

" Dear child," answers one of the maidens, "the 
Holy One has already seen us all. We can never 
be changed, we can never be other than what you 
have made us ; but if you ask Him to forgive us, 
He has promised that He will do so. And there, 
hidden beyond that mist, are a great company of 
To-morrows. No, little girl, you cannot see them, 
— you can never see them. But remember, when 
each To-morrow becomes To-day, to fill it up, 
with right and kindly deeds, then His love will 
brighten every moment, and all the Yesterdays to 
come will be spotless, pure, and beautiful." 

A dim, gray mist rises before Irene's eyes. The 
Yesterdays all vanish. A ray of light greets the 
child with a morning kiss, and, springing out of 
her bed, Irene cries : 

" Oh, now it is To-day !" 




By Winnie Weston. 


It was in the early autumn, when the summer 
vacation was fast drawing to a close, and the very 
next week the children must look up books, 
buckets and slates, to begin again the routine of 
the school-room for another year. No wonder, 
then, that the busy brains of Mr. Butler's two fun- 
loving children, Fred and Fannie, were crowded 
with plans for extracting the very essence of fun 
out of the few remaining days of freedom. 

Fred and Fannie were twin brother and sister, 
eleven years old. One bright morning, their 
mother said, at breakfast, to their older brother: 

" Joe, I wish you could get me a good lot of 
muscadines to make some jelly for winter use." 

Joe, always ready to please, thought a moment, 
and replied : 

" I must carry some wheat to mill to-day, but 
to-morrow I '11 see if I can find any along the 
creek about two miles from here, where we went 
for scaly-barks last year, — don't you remember, 

"Oh yes!" said Freddy; "it was a beautiful 
place. You know we wished Fannie had gone 
with us, for it was not damp along the creek at all,. 

l8 7 9-] 


2 9 

and there were such fine old beech-trees, lovely 
vines, and " 

Here Joe stopped him, saying: 

"Well, if mother says so, Fannie shall go and 
see all those wonders for herself. You and she 
will be great help in picking up the muscadines, 
and you can carry your dinner, and make a picnic 
of it." 

The children were delighted, but presently Fan- 
nie said, half doubtfully : 

" Mamma, does n't it take more than three 
people to make a picnic?" 

The mother smiled, and took the hint by saying: 

"As you seem to think it does, you may invite 
Nannie and Kitty Harris, and their cousin Hal, to 
go with you ; don't you think so, Joe ?" 

" Yes, I '11 have to go in the wagon, and there 
will be room enough for all, and the muscadines 

A happy day that was to the five children, and 
the next morning found a merry group in front of 
Mr. Butler's door, with baskets in hand, waiting 
for Joe. Soon he came, in the new farm-wagon, 
with its gorgeous body of green and red, and its 
high spring seats. Two large gray mules were 
drawing it, and looked proud of their fine equi- 
page. A hamper was lifted in for the muscadines, 
and in it lay a bag filled with something hard and 
knobby, which Joe said was his contribution to 
their dinner. Baskets were securely tucked away 
under the seats, and the children climbed in while 
the mother stood at the gate, telling Joe to take 
good care of his precious freight, and cautioning 
the children about health and safety. 

A crack of the whip and off they go, — past fields 
of rustling corn, shaking their plumy tassels in the 
morning breeze, past fields of early cotton, whiten- 
ing with the "fleecy staple" as it bursts the boll, 
and hangs out invitingly to the pickers, who with 
bags and baskets dot the fields, — until they come to 
a hill. As the mules go toiling up its sunny slope 
the children spy in front of them two grotesque- 
looking darkies, with blue buckets on their arms. 
They were barefooted and ragged, but chatting as 
merrily as the party in the wagon. 

" Who are those children, — do any of you 
know?" asked Joe; for their buckets made him 
think that probably they were on the same errand 
as themselves. 

" I think the boy has worked for us sometimes; 
his name is Sandy," said Kittie Harris. 

Joe stopped and called out : 

"Hullo, Sandy, where are you traveling?" 

" We'se gwine atter muskidimes, we is ; we 
hearn we kin git two-bits a bucket fer 'em in 

"We are going to look for some, too," returned 

Joe, " and you may get in and go with us. We 
will share our luck with you." 

Their teeth flashing and eyes dancing, the col- 
ored children climbed in, and Kitty, feeling that 
she had introduced Sandy, turned to the little girl 
and asked her name. 

" Dey calls me Babe, but dat aint my name. I 
'most forget what my name is ; does you 'member, 

" Did n't Mammy say sumfin 'bout Sinai?" 

" Dat 's it. I knows now. Yes 'm ; my name 's 
Sinai Sarepta Jones." 

By this time they had passed the fields, and 
turned from the road into a dense forest that 
skirted a large creek. After driving as far in as 
possible, they stopped, took the mules out, and set 
out on the search for vines. Joe divided the party 
into twos, taking little Nannie with him because 
she was the youngest. Hal and Fannie set off to- 
gether, Fred and Kittie took another direction, and 
Sandy and Sarepta still another. Fannie's eyes 
proved brightest, for she soon called out, lustily : 
" Come this way ; I 've found them ! " There was 
the vine with its bright shining leaves, and beauti- 
ful purple grapes, stretching from tree to tree until 
it made one large arbor, shading twenty or thirty 
square yards of ground. As soon as jackets and 
hats could be thrown aside, up went the boys, and 
down came the grapes, bouncing and bumping on 
the heads of the girls, who hastened to do their 
part by filling the baskets. Joe came down from 
his tree, when he found all were employed, and 
said he would look for another vine, and also select 
a place for their dinner. Meanwhile, the fingers 
worked busily, and the merry voices made the old 
forest ring with a music not often heard in its 
shaded depths. 

Before long, a call from Joe summoned all to the 
spot he had selected for the picnic dinner. It 
was on the banks of the creek, and under the 
very beeches that Freddy had so admired before. 
Just there, a huge tree had fallen across the stream, 
making a bridge by which one could easily cross to 
the opposite side. Over there, Joe had set fire to 
an old dead tree trunk, which was sending up 
such myriads of red sparks and wreaths of grace- 
ful smoke, that the children saw only the 
beauty thus presented, and many were the excla- 
mations of delight as piece after piece of the burn- 
ing wood fell to the ground, and the sparks flew 
up in all directions through the green arches above. 
When the dinner of sandwiches, cakes, etc., had 
been spread, Joe told Sarepta to go to the fire and 
bring his share of the repast. Tripping across the 
log to the foot of the burning stump, she found a 
lot of sweet-potatoes roasted in the ashes, and a 
row of roasting-ears, all nicely brown, stood in front 




of the fire, leaning against a piece of wood placed 
there for the purpose. 

What a fine dinner that was, and what fine appe- 
tites for enjoying it ! It was not eaten with much 
ceremony, and was soon over, Sandy and Sarepta 
leaving not a crumb to carry back. An hour's play 
followed, and the lunch-baskets were filled with 
grasses, berries, ferns and flowers. Then another 
vine was stripped of muscadines, this time filling 
all the baskets and the buckets besides. The 
mules were harnessed up, and the girls and boys 
moved toward the wagon, where Joe was stowing 
away the fragrant purple load. 

" Don't you wish we did n't have to go to school, 
and could come back for more ? " said Kitty. 

"May be we can come some Saturday," Fred 

" The Saturdays are nearly all rainy days, seems 
to me." 

"Why, Kittie," said Fannie, "you are like Jo 
in the story who thought it always is a-rainin'. 
May be there '11 be some bright Saturdays, and 
you will bring us ; wont you, Joe ? " 

" If I can find time, I surely will," good-natured 
Joe answered. 

"Wish I could git to go 'long wid yer," said 
Sarepta, for this had been a glorious day to her. 

" Hump, chile," said San, ' we '11 be in de cotton 
patch den, dar's whar we 7/ be." 

They were going home now, and a bright pict- 
ure the brilliant wagon with its load made as they 
wound their way through the dim aisles of the 
wood, and then along the dusty highway. Joe sat 
in front with Nannie beside him, holding the whip, 
and looking into his face now and then to ask if 
she should give the mules a little " persuasion." 
Hal and Fannie were on the next seat, and Kittie 
and Fred behind them. The girls had let their sun- 
bonnets fall back, and the setting sun sent gleams 
of gold through their hair, as it fell in long braids 
or clustering curls over their shoulders ; their laps 
were filled with flowers, wh'ch they arranged as 
they rode leisurely along, and the boys watched 
with interest to see which mamma was to have the 
prettiest bouquet. Sandy and Sarepta stowed them- 
selves among the heaping baskets in the rear. 
When they reached home, the mothers bought 
the bucketfuls of Sandy and his sister, so that they 
scampered home, each with an empty bucket in one 
hand and a bright two-bits piece in the other. 

As the children exchanged good-byes and separ- 
ated, they all concluded that this day, of combined 
work and play, had been the happiest of all the 
happy vacation. 

By Edgar Fawcett. 

So long ago that history pays 
No heed nor record of how long, 

Back in the lovely dreamy days, 
The days of story and of song, 

Before the world had crowded grown, 
While wrong on earth was hard to find, 

And half the earth had never known 
The forms and faces of mankind, 

When just as now the years would keep 

Their terms of snows and suns and showers, 

It chanced that Summer dropt asleep, 
One morning, in a field of flowers. 

And while the warm weeks came and fled, 
In all their tender wealth of charm, 

She slept, with beauteous golden head 
Laid softly on her weary arm. 


She did not hear the waving trees, 

The warbling brook she did not hear, 
Nor yet the velvet-coated bees 

That boomed about her rosy ear. 

In many a yellow breezy mass, 

The rich wheat ripened far away, 
And glittering on the fragrant grass, 

Her silver sickle idly lay. 

But then at last, one noontide hour, 

A gorgeous moth, while hovering by, 
Mistook her sweet mouth for a flower, 

And Summer waked, with startled cry. 

She rose, in anxious wonder, now, 

To gaze upon the heightened wheat, 
And saw its plenteous tassels bow 

Dead-ripe below the sultry heat. 

Half crazed, she wandered East and West 

Amid the peaceful spacious clime, 
Until at length, with panting breast, 

She stood before old Father Time. 

With tears of shame she told him all, 

While pointing to the wheat unmown, 
And said, " What power shall make it fall 

Ere Autumn's bitter winds have blown?" 

Then Father Time, with laughter gay, 

Bowed all his frame, and crooked his knees, 
And tossed his white beard like the spray 

That crowns the crests of wintry seas. 

" Oh, daughter, cheer your heart ! " he cried ; 
"The wheat shall fall ere falls the night. 
We two shall mow it, side by side, 
And reap it in the stars' pale light ! " 

So Summer cleared her brow of gloom, 

And forth with Father Time she went, 
And, haggard Age by Youth in bloom, 

Above the tawny wheat they bent. 

Ere fall of night the harvest fell ; 

But since that season, fair and blithe, 
As ancient annals love to tell, 

Old Father Time has borne a scythe ! 



By M. M. D. 

[T was the queerest family that 
Lever was known. In the first 
place, there was the baby, — 
and a real nice, hearty, pretty 
Jbaby it was. That baby went 
wrong from the first week of 
its existence. It was always 
waking up when they wished 
it to sleep, and dozing off when 
they longed for it to be at its 
brightest. When the father 
came home and tried to have 
a sort of subdued romp with 
the little mite, it would blink 
and blink, and finally drop off, just when he 
was saying " A-choo ! " in his funniest possible 
style. But there was a good reason for that, as 
you will admit when you hear more about the 
father. And when he wished the house to be 
very, very quiet, I declare if the rose-bud would n't 
wake up and scream as if it were taking the prize 
in a crying-baby show ! But just so sure as com- 
pany came, and mamma, ringing the parlor bell, 
said sweetly, "I '11 have the baby brought down ; 
he 's a lively little thing for his age," it would be 
carried in, the next moment, bathed in the sweetest 




of dewy slumbers. Later on, that baby " beat 
everything in the way of contrariness " the nurse 

" ever saw." He was so large of his age that it made 
him " delicate" ; he kicked when they rocked him 
to sleep, and collapsed when they tried to stand him 
on his legs ; 
finally, he was 
so plump and 
puffy that he 
had the croup 
every seventh 
night, — not 
really serious 
croup, but just 
croup enough 
to set the fam- 
ily on edge. 

But baby was 
sugared moon- 
beams com- 
pared with his 
little brother 
Rob, -or rath- 
er his big 
brother, for I 
suppose a boy of four years is a big brother from 
a younger point of view. That boy was always 
going where he was not wanted, though when 
needed he was invariably out of sound and 
reach. If you were talking secrets, he would 
suddenly pop up from behind a sofa. If you 
wished to steal out by the side door, you 'd be 
sure to find him on the sill, and he would 
catch at your ankle and coax until you said, 
"Oh yes, you can come, too." And then, if 
you did say it, he would n't keep hold of your 
hand, and he would go exactly where he 
pleased. Then, when he went exactly where 
he pleased, he was sure to get into trouble. 
If he ran to Ponto's kennel, he would catch his 
feet in the chain, and Ponto would spring out 
and snarl at him ; if he went to the barn to look 
for eggs, the old hen would scare him away ; 
if he went to the stable, it would be at the 
precise moment when the old mare was switch- 
ing insects away with her tail, and poor Rob's 
eye would be taken for a fly ; if he went to the 
kitchen, he would certainly upset the molas- 
ses-jug or milk-pail, and so be chased out by 
the cook's broom-stick. He was n't really 
bad ; but somehow he was never absolutely 
good. " His stars were unpropitious," his brother 
John said; "they wouldn't twinkle, twinkle, for 

■ 879-] 



him worth a cent." But then, John himself had a 
dark way of looking at things. 

Once, in a fit of kindness, the big brother took 
pity on him. He was reading on the bank, and, 
seeing Rob run crying from the house, he called: 
"Hello! trouble again, hey? Come here, poor 
little chap ! " Soon, 
however, the poor 
little chap proved to 
be so much in his 
way that he lifted 
him up and set him 
upon the beam of an 
old, broken - down 
pier close by. The 
water was quite deep 
there ; but the beam 
was strong, and Rob, 
who was stout and 
brave, did n't mind 
it at all, and said so. 

"Don't move now, 
my little man ! Call 
big brudder when 
you get tired," said 
John exultingly, as 
he went back to his 

Any one would 
have supposed that 
now poor Rob was 
out of everybody's 
way, for once. But 
no! In a few mo- 
ments the "big brud- 
der " looked up from 
his book, and, with 
a whistle, sprang to 
his feet, crying : 

"Hi! If Rob is n't 
in one of his fixes 
again ! " 

There sat Rob, 
helpless, on the 
beam ; his poor little 
feet dangling over 
the rough waters,and 
a great sea-gull fly- 
ing into his face, as 
if to drive him away. Rob was so used to not 
being wanted, that he took it quite as a matter of 
course, until the gull came too very, very close; 
and then he screamed so loud that John, who was 
about to rescue him, asked if he wanted to make a 
fellow deaf ? 

This John was a queer fellow, too. He was ten 
years old, and a book-worm. He read, morning, 
Vol. VII.—*. 


noon and night. It was almost impossible for any 
one but Rob to make him hear, when once he be- 
came absorbed in a book. The door-bell might 
ring, his mother might call, the fire might go out, 
the daylight might fade slowly away ; and still John 
would not look up. There is a story that once he 

sat down in the 
swing and began 
"Little Men," and 
when at last he 
reached the last word 
of the book and 
looked up, he found 
a fine spider-web 
stretching from his 
knee to the ground. 
You can imagine how 
often he got into 
trouble. The history 
of his school-days 
would make almost a 
tragedy. Everything 
he said, from morn- 
ing till night ; all be- 
cause he had no eyes 
nor ears for anything 
besides the book he 
happened to be read- 
ing on the sly. If he 
was set to watch the 
baby, the poor little 
thing would find the 
scissors, or put feath- 
ers into its mouth, or 
climb into the coal- 
scuttle, in less than 
no time. If sent on 
an errand, he would 
pull out his book, sit 
down on a tempting 
stoop, and read till it 
began to rain. One 
day, when painters 
were frescoing the 
library ceiling, he 
climbed up their lad- 
der to get out of the 
way, and perched 
himself on a bracket shelf over a book-case. There 
he sat, absorbed and happy, and at last the men 
forgot about him. They moved the book-case, be- 
cause it was in the way ; finished their work ; took 
out the ladder ; and when finally John looked up, he 
found himself alone in the great room, and about 
eight feet from the floor. It was a big jump, but 
he made it, and, of course, sprained his ankle. He 




was laid up for a month ; and, as the baby and 
Rob were down with the measles just then, his 
sister Nell had to nurse him, though she admitted 
she " hated it like sixty." 

What a queer girl Nell was ! She was sourer 
than a lemon ten miles from a lump of sugar ; she 
was as cross as two sticks, — that is, she was very, 
very cross, indeed. What wonder, poor child, be- 
longing, as she did, to that family ! If things went 
wrong wilh them generally, everything went wrong 
with her especially. She was known as the most 
unlucky girl in school. At home, if she sipped tea, 
it was sure to burn her lips ; if she skipped her 
rope, it invariably tripped her; if she smelled a 
flower, its thorn, or some sharp stem, was certain 
to prick her nose and make her cry. In fact, it 
would require a whole number of St. NICHOLAS for 
me to tell you all that happened to poor Nell from 
almost any Monday till the next Saturday night. 

What else could you expect of a girl with such a 
father and mother ? What ? Did n't I tell you 

about them ? Dear me ! It is such a long story 
that, if once begun, it would never be ended. I 
must be content with saying that the father was a 
night editor ; that is, he worked all night, every 
night, on a newspaper that had to be printed and 
sent out before breakfast to thousands of readers. 
So, of course, if he worked all night, he had to 
sleep all day ; and that was quite enough to turn 
any household topsy-turvy. As for the mother, 
she belonged to a first family. Well, we all know 
what first families are. Look at Adam. He be- 
longed to a first family. So did Cain. And this 
mother was so very busy, belonging to a first family, 
— thinking about it, talking about it, acting up to 
it, — that things went at sixes and sevens generally. 
It is not a complete explanation, perhaps ; but I 
have no other to give just now. 

And I have no moral to give, either. But any 
moral that would come out of such a family as that 
would hardly be worth having, I think. Don't you 
think so, too ? 

By a Boy. 

UT in Kansas, we have 
rare sport hunting 
jack-rabbits. Eastern 
boys can hardly guess 
how much excitement 
there is in it. We 
have other game, of 
course. Deer and 
antelopes are quite 
common in Edwards 
and other south-west- 
ern counties ; and the 
wolves that prowl over 
the prairies are worse for our sheep and calves 
than bears are, or ever were, in New England. 

But the greatest sport of all is hunting jack- 
rabbits. We hunt them on horseback, with grey- 
hounds. All the settlers in our section keep one or 
more greyhounds on purpose to hunt jack-rabbits. 
I went fox-hunting twice, with hounds, in Maine,* 
and did not have half the fun that I have had out 
here, in Kansas, hunting "jacks." 

Our jack-rabbit, I should say, is no such little 
scrub as the Massachusetts rabbit, or even the 
Maine hare. Jack is quite a beast, and makes, 
roast or stewed, a pretty good dish. Many a set- 

* The narrator emigrated to Kansas 

tier's family lived on jacks, after the grasshoppers 
came. Our rabbit has black legs and black ears, 
and a blackish head. When he stands up on his 
haunches, for a look around, he is nearly three 
feet tall. His tail is long, and that is black, too. 
But the body is a brownish gray. I have seen 
jacks almost as large as a small goat. Now and 
then one comes across a tremendously large one, — 
so big and tall and long-eared, and so awfully 
clumsy-looking, as fairly to make a fellow stare, 
even when he is used to jacks. Generally, how- 
ever, they do not weigh more than fifteen or twenty 

These jack-rabbits live right out on the open 
prairie and along the shallow river-valleys, where 
there is not a bush, nor a tree, anywhere in sight. 
Most of the grass, except by the streams, is buffalo 
grass, — a short, curly, fine grass; but scattered 
about are seen bunches, or rings, of taller grass, 
two and a half or three feet high. These rings of 
high grass are commonly not larger across than a 
bushel-basket, but quite thick. And right inside 
of the grass rings is where the jacks hide. They 
hide in there, curled up, cuddled warm out of the 
prairie wind, and well out of sight, too. You 
scarcely ever see a jack stirring on the prairie in 

from Maine when fifteen years old. 

l8 79 .] 



the day-time, even in places where they are really 
very numerous. Those grass bunches are so thick 
that you may pass close to one and not see the 
jack cuddled up in the middle of it; and if he sees 
you, he will not stir, unless you kick, or strike, into 
the grass. Then out he goes, ten feet at one jump; 
and, clumsy as he looks, there is nothing that runs 
which can catch him, if he gets twenty yards start, 

as if propelled by a single kick, then stop and look. 
The wolf knows that the game is up. I once saw 
a wolf sit down and look hard at the rabbit, and sniff 
him longingly; and the jack, not yet half awake, 
sat and winked. But the wolf turned away and 
went to another bunch of grass. He knew better 
than to waste his strength chasing a jack-rabbit. 
The way we used to hunt jacks was to start out — 


— not even a greyhound. Away he flies, like an old 
felt hat flopping along the ground before the wind; 
and you think that the hound will catch him in no 
time ; but he does n't. Jack keeps just about two 
jumps ahead, and will run one mile, or two, or all 
day, just as you like. There is no such thing as tiring 
one down, when once he has had a good fair start, 
and has had a chance to get his eyes fairly open 
and catch his wind. The only way we ever catch 
jack-rabbits with hounds is to take them by surprise, 
before they have time to lay themselves out for good 
steady leaping. 

I have often laughed to see a wolf hunt jack- 
rabbits. The wolf will sneak along, crouched 
close to the ground, and work up to a ring of 
grass, then give a sudden jump right into the midst 
of it. About one time in fifty, he will manage to 
seize the sleeping jack. But commonly the rabbit 
will, in some mysterious way, leap out from under 
the wolf's very nose, and go twenty or thirty feet. 

eight or ten of us — on our ponies (and there are no 
horses in this country fleeter than some of those 
Texas ponies), with all the greyhounds we could 
muster, — sometimes fifteen or twenty of them. 
Riding out on the prairie, we would now string out 
in a line, with the dogs all running close beside the 
ponies, and go at a gallop for those rings of tall 
grass. Just as some pony's fore feet were going into 
a bunch of tall grass, out would leap a rabbit. The 
greyhounds would be at close hauls, not two yards 
from the rabbit's tail ; and everybody knows how a 
greyhound will buckle down to the ground and 
run, without so much as a yip. The jack, waked 
up so suddenly, would not have time to straighten 
out for long leaps, and would tack, first right then 
left. In that way he would dodge one hound, but 
in dodging one, another would grab him. That 
was the way we used to hunt them. Sometimes 
we would by this plan catch eighteen or twenty in 
an hour. Oh, it was live sport ! Such shouting 




and cheering on ! Three or four jacks going at 
once, and all crazy after them, at a dead run ! The 
ponies would chase as eagerly as the greyhounds. 
Why, I have seen more excitement and more 
downright, laughable fun in a jack-rabbit hunt 
than in anything else I ever witnessed. 

But it is not the safest business in the world — 
riding at full spring and at a venture across the 
prairie. For one is always liable to run into a 
" buffalo wallow," or break through into some old 
burrow. Our Texas ponies were pretty sure-footed 
little fellows ; but, of course, if a horse broke into 
a deep hole he would go down in a heap, and his 
rider would go headlong on the ground. I once 
got a tremendous " fore-reacher " of this sort. And 
here I should explain, perhaps, that a " buffalo- 
wallow " is not a slough, nor a pig-mire, but just a 
dry hole where a bison has got down and dug with 
his horns, and rolled and plowed himself into the 
dirt, either to get rid of flies or vermin, or else, 
perhaps, from some desire to get the fresh earth 
into his hair. 

The winter after the grasshoppers came, my bro- 
ther and I started a "bone-team." We were about 
cleared out in the way of money ; we had land and 
lean cattle, but nothing to eat. So we rigged up 
an old prairie-schooner (large wagon), and put our 
ponies to it and went into the business of drawing 
bones. Perhaps, too, I need to explain what a bone- 
team is. On those prairies where buffalo and deer 
and antelope have run so many years, there are vast 
quantities of old bones lying about. In many tracts 
the ground is fairly covered with them ; and in the 
winter and spring, when the grass is off and the 
sun shining, the plain at a distance looks white as 
if covered with frost or ice. The turf is full of 
bones of all sorts and sizes ; and scattered about are 
some enormous buffalo skulls, with the short, thick 
horns still in them. 

These old bones are of some commercial value. 
At almost every station of the railroads across the 
plains there is an agency for the purchase of bones. 
They are taken East, and manufactured into ferti- 
lizers, like superphosphate of lime. The price paid 

a year ago at the stations of E County was five 

dollars per ton. My brother and I drew in rather over 
a hundred tons during the winter. It is no great job 
to pick up a ton of those bones in many places, but 
we had to haul ours nearly twenty miles ; for the 
most of the land near the railway has now been 
taken up, or at least cleared of bones. It was a 
three-days' trip to go out on the plains and get a 
load. With our team of six ponies, we commonly 
drew in three tons. While out on these bone trips, 
we made considerable account of jack-rabbits ; we 
had two greyhounds on purpose to hunt them, and 
to hunt antelopes. I did most of the hunting; my 

brother was a little lame that season from a 
"hoist "he had received off a reaper. We had 
one of the fleetest ponies for running I have ever 
seen. In color sha was so light as almost to look 
silvery, and had both her fore legs white. Her 
hair was very short and thin. She was slim and 
trig — oh, a delicate little creature ! In weight she 
was not much above seven hundred pounds ; but 
ah ! she would skim those plains like a goshawk. 
We called her Gilly. 

I would get up before sunrise, call in Sport and 
Grip (the two greyhounds), then mount Gilly, and 
start after a jack for breakfast. One morning we 
got after a pretty big jack, and ran him out past a 
large white-topped "schooner," where an emi- 
grant party had hauled up for the night. Two 
men and a woman were stirring about it ; and I 
saw two nice, rosy girls peering out of the back end 
of the wagon. They looked so inspiring that I 
thought I would show them a little fancy riding. 
So I touched Gilly and told her to go. At that, 
she just reached out those white legs of hers and 
straightened to it. Oh, she went like an arrow after 
the hounds and past that schooner, and away on 
across the prairie. And, right in the midst of her 
keenest run, she broke into a wolf-hole ! Believe 
it or not, the mare turned a complete somersault ! 
But I was n't in the saddle when she turned it : I 
had gone on, and went on ; went on my head, 
went on my knees, went every way. I was more 
than fifty feet from the pony when I finally 
stopped ! Sport and Grip pulled up to see me go, 
and the jack, — he stopped and looked. The wolf 
came out of the ground and looked, too. They 
were all so interested in it, that they entirely forgot 
each other. And back at the schooner I saw six 
or seven men, women and girls, standing motion- 
less, with their mouths open. When I, at length, 
got up, such a "ha! ha!" came wafted on the wind 
as I shall not soon forget. It hurt me outrageously. 
I got up feeling as if I were a hundred and one 
years old. As for the jack, he had taken leave ; 
and the dogs were barking into the wolf-hole. 

Another young fellow, named Adney Clark, and 
myself once ran a jack-rabbit under a settler's 
house, which stood out by itself on the prairie. The 
rabbit ran up to it and crawled under the sill. The 
hounds could not get under. We went round the 
house and then into it. There was no one at home. 
We were determined to have that jack, anyhow. 
So we pulled up two or three boards of the floor, 
and Ad took the fire-poker and got down under 
the floor, to poke out the jack. He had not been 
down there long when he uttered a screech and 
came out at one jump, with a great big rattle- 
snake hanging to his boot-leg ! I grabbed a chair 
and killed the snake. Ad was so weak he could 

l8 79 -] 



not stand alone and could scarcely speak. I pulled 
off his boot. But there was no mark on him. For- 
tunately, the snake had only bitten his boot-leg. 
We then poked out the jack and the hounds 
grabbed him. 

And at another time, when eight or ten of us 
were out racing down jacks, with as many as thir- 
teen hounds, we all got after one big fellow, and 
at length ran him into an old deserted " dig-out." 

A "dig-out," or "root-out," is a house dug in 
the ground, and the floor of it is often four or five 

feet below the level of the soil. The door of this 
one was gone. The jack, being pretty hard run, 
darted in there. In went the whole pack of hounds 
after him, and there was no end of a pow-wow. 
Round and about they went, yelping and growling 
down there in the dark. We thought there would 
n't be much left of that jack when, by and by, 
out he came and leaped away, leaving all the 
hounds in there tumbling over one another, and 
the end of the business was that we had to go in 
and haul those dogs out by the legs. 

By M. E. Winslow. 


"Will it never be Thanksgiving?" said Am- 
anda, plaintively, as she threw her dinner-basket 
and books in a corner and prepared to eat the sup- 
per, which she found neatly spread for her, on her 
return from the school-house, two long miles away. 

"What possesses you to think about Thanks- 

giving in May?" said Jake, scornfully. "You 
might as well talk about Fourth of July when the 
pond is all frozen up and the ground covered with 

" So I would, if it would make me warm to think 
about it," said the little girl, looking out over the 




broad meadow land and green swales which lay 
between her little brown home and the black, 
jagged mountain ridge which had bounded the 
horizon of her whole life. Only one house lay 
between her and the mountain,— a long, low farm- 
house, — where dwelt her companion, Cynthia, with 
whom she daily walked those long two miles to 
school. These were in the other direction, where, 
half hidden in a clump of trees, stood the white 
church, the black school-house, the store, and the 
five houses composing "the village." Not another 
human habitation was in sight, and, though there 
were other farm-houses scattered here and there in 
solitary spots, even the thought of this scattered 
population did not tend to make one feel "crowded." 

" It's so dull," pursued Amanda; "there's never 
anything to do but go to school, nor anybody to 
see, nor anything to hear about, except when the 
folks come home for Thanksgiving. I just wish 
we could be getting ready for it all the time." 

" So we can, little daughter," said a gentle, tired 
voice, as the worn, faded-looking farmer's wife 
placed upon the table the smoking hot pork, pota- 
toes, corn-bread and tea, which had only awaited 
the arrival of the little school-girl. " Every day of 
our lives may be made a preparation for Thanks- 
giving, by counting up our mercies, and thanking 
the Lord for them as we go along." 

" Pshaw ! " said Amanda, " I did n't mean that 
way; I meant doing something. It's always so 
gay and lively when you 're chopping apples and 
making pies and all that ; but we 've got to wait 
six whole months for that, and it 's so dull." 

" Suppose we begin to-day, Mandy," said the 
farmer, as he took his place at the table, "and you 
and Jake spend your spare time all summer get- 
ting ready for Thanksgiving; that is, of course, 
when lessons are over." 

Wondering looks crossed the table, but no more 
was said; for the farmer was just ready to say 
grace, and after that the business of the hour 
absorbed every one's attention. 

When tea was over and the farm lay in the 
shadow of the great mountain, while slant yellow 
rays of sunlight still rested on the village and fur- 
ther down the valley, the farmer unfolded his plan, 
and the first preparation for Thanksgiving was made 
by the children's going out into the garden-patch 
and in the center of a great open space dropping 
three squash-seeds into an open hole in the top of 
a little hill. It was a small beginning, but Amanda 
at once began to take an interest in garden-work 
which she had never experienced before. The 
next day was Saturday, and her mother called her 
into the barn-yard and presented her with two 
setting hens, a brood of downy little chickens, and 
a flock of young turkeys. 

" These are all to be yours, daughter, as long as 
you feed them regularly and take care of them. 
All the turkeys and chickens you can raise, and all 
the eggs you can store, will be for Thanksgiving." 

Meanwhile, Jake went with the farm hands to 
plant corn, and undertook to drive the cows to and 
from the pasture every night, and to learn to milk, 
that he might help to make the golden butter, 
which would be needed by and by, to spread 
Thanksgiving bread and to make the Thanksgiv- 
ing pie-crust. 

No one heard the children complain of dullness 
now, for the poultry and the cows took up a great 
deal of the long, light evenings, and the shouts of 
delight with which Amanda announced the discov- 
ery of shining white eggs, were only equaled by 
their joy at the sight of the little green squash-vines 
that in time peeped up above the dark-brown 
earth. Then Jake begged for another bit of land, 
in which to plant little purple potato-eyes ; and his 
father promised that, if they came to anything, 
those potatoes and no others should be cooked for 
the Thanksgiving dinner. Even vegetables can- 
not grow without care, and potato and squash bugs 
had to be picked off very carefully, while in the long 
weeks of July drought the children carried many 
a tin pail of water, with which to keep moist the 
roots of their precious vine ; and the onion-beds, 
parsley-beds, and beds of sage and summer savory, 
which were to help dress the Thanksgiving dinner, 
were kept by those little fingers as free from weeds 
as any one could desire. What delightful berrying 
expeditions Amanda and Jake and Cynthia had, 
during the hot July and August afternoons ! They 
worked as they had never worked before, for they 
had an object in their picking ; and when the 
mother showed her little daughter how to dry the 
huckleberries on boards covered with white paper, 
and how to make beautiful pots of jam of the rasp- 
berries and blackberries, she felt quite like an old 
housekeeper, and put away these delicacies, beam- 
ing with delightful visions of the future Thanks- 

As the season advanced, there were apples to be 
gathered and packed away in barrels ; or else 
peeled, strung on long cords, and hung up to dry. 
The frost opened the chestnuts, and they and the 
hickory-nuts afforded many an hour's busy sport 
for the children ; and many a jolly woodland excur- 
sion was taken on Saturday, while the men cut 
down trees, brought them home, and cut and piled 
wood for the Thanksgiving fires. One grand ex- 
cursion to the cranberry swamps closed the season, 
and on this occasion the baskets and pails, filled 
with bright red berries, were crowned with wreaths 
of ground pine, branches of hemlock, and twigs 
of shining holly, with which to decorate the old 




farm-house for the grand Puritan Christmas, — the 
Thanksgiving festival. 

Meanwhile, the children, Amanda and Jake, 
happy and contented, had been growing healthy 
and strong from their constant work in the bracing 
mountain air. They had learned many secrets of 
nature, and of domestic and rustic art ; and if 
thoughts had sometimes come to them of the power 
and love that caused the earth to bring forth in its 
season, sending the rain to till, and the sunshine to 
ripen, the harvests, turning aside the lightning 
and the frost, keeping that mysterious thing called 
life in the animals, and crowning the year with 
plenty, till thankful longings arose in their hearts, 
— such thoughts did not pale any of the roses in 
their cheeks, or take away the least bit from the joy 
of the days. Nor did even their annoying disap- 
pointments, when young turkeys hung themselves 
on wood-piles, black hawks carried off downy 
chickens, malicious boys stole unripe crook-necks, 
and the like, hurt them ; they thus learned to 
" endure hardness," and to gain the mental and 
moral vigor which comes from perseverance under 
difficulty and patience in defeat. 

" I did not think it took so much time and so 
many things to get ready for Thanksgiving," said 
Amanda, as, the afternoon before the happy feast- 
day, she stood in the store-room with her mother, 
taking a last look at the preparation for to-morrow's 
festival. There were turkeys and geese, ready 
dressed for roasting; sausages waiting to be fried, 
and chickens ready to be broiled. Great loaves of 
white and brown bread and jars of cookies and nut- 
cakes already were made for the children, and 
sponge and jelly cake for their elders. A great 
plum-pudding, tied in a bag, was ready to boil, 
and was flanked by pork-pies, chicken-pies, apple- 
pies, cranberry tarts, and yellow pumpkin delica- 
cies wherein the ripened crook-necks, garnered 
eggs, and grass-fed milk told of a summer's suc- 
cessful and faithful labor. On a shelf lay piled-up 
dishes of rosy and golden apples and cracked hick- 
ory-nuts, all wrinkled and appetizing, ready for the 
coming festival. 

Outside of the store-room, all was in a state of 
beautiful, home-like decoration. Fires blazed on 

every hearth, and beside them stood wood-boxes 
piled with logs and crackling brush, gathered by 
Jake's busy hands. Bedrooms had been fixed 
up everywhere, and snowy beds prepared in rub- 
bish rooms and closets, while the warm, dry loft 
above the wood-house, with its row of "bunks," 
looked, Jake said, " a good deal like camp-meet- 
ing." For all "the folks" were coming to-night, 
and the two great farm wagons had been fitted up 
with plank seats and sent down to the depot to meet 
them. Amanda's two elder brothers and their 
wives, her three sisters and their husbands, the un- 
married teacher sister, even Aunt Sophronia and 
Uncle Bill, and all the crowd of grandchildren who 
lived ever so far away, traveled night and day to be 
at home ; for on that one day, at least, of all the 
long year, the old brown farm-house should hold 
its own united family. 

" So many things," said Amanda, as she closed 
the door; "besides all that we have done, there's 
sugar and raisins and spice and flour, and the 
things to put them in, and the things to cook 
with — oh dear, I can't think how many ! " 

"Yes," said her father, who just then entered, 
bright with expectation ; " long before you or I were 
born, and ever since, God has been busy getting 
ready for our Thanksgiving. He put the coal 
down in the earth ; He set the trees to growing ; 
He prepared the seeds, and made ready the soil, 
and blessed the labors of the husbandman. He 
built the homestead and sent the children. Yes, 
wife, He has watched and cared for each one as it 
grew up, and so arranged its life that, of the band 
who come to us to-day, not one but is an honor 
and cause for thanksgiving. " 

"Yes, indeed," said his wife heartily, "and I 
want my little girl here to learn that not by fits 
and starts of feeling, but by steady perseverance in 
appointed tasks all through life ; by gentle works 
and loving thoughts, by kindly and care-taking 
deeds, we must be storing up the good things, 
just as she has done this summer." 

" It 's all ' getting ready,' I suppose," said 
Amanda thoughtfully, at the same time breaking 
the least little teentybit from the edge of the fruit- 
cake and nibbling it with great complacency. 





By Evelyn Muller. 

Every one knows about the Centaurs, — "a 
people of Thessaly ; " yet no one ever has told us 
about Centaur boys. 

But nowadays people are discovering every- 
thing. There is Dr. Schliemann, who has dis- 
covered all the old kitchen-ware of the ancient 
Trojans, and written a book about it ; and another 
explorer has just found out about some young Cen- 
taurs who went to old Chiron's school. 

It was a boarding and day school, situated on 
the Island of Peparethos, off the coast of Thessaly ; 
" a most salubrious spot," the school prospectus 
said, and old Chiron taught all the polite arts. It 
must have been a trouble, for young Centaurs were 
a wild set. Indeed, people in those days never said, 
"This boy is as wild as a young colt," but "As 

them much, though the boys bothered old Chiron. 
He was always shouting to them to keep their 
hoofs off the desks, and to stop switching their tails 
about, for they knocked down ink bottles and 
things. Of course, in fly-time such a rule was very 
hard, but the Centaur boys revenged themselves by 
chasing the geese that belonged to Chiron's old 
housekeeper, and making her scold till she was 
hoarse. They played foot-ball, too, and such a 
splendid game, for every Centaur could kick with 
both his hind feet, while he steadied himself on his 
fore feet. The ball sometimes went clear across 
the island — about two miles. At least, that is the 
record the boys left cut on the rocks at Peparethos, 
so far as our discoverer could make out and trans- 
late. "Gryneus" and "Pholus" must have been 


wild as a young Centaur," which amounted to 
the same thing. The Centaur boys had good times, 
you may be sure. The polite arts did not bother 

the best kickers, for he found their names cut on 
the rocks, just under this big kicking score. 

And they had grand games of base-ball ; such 




'the centaur boys could not climb a tree. 




running and catching ! They did not need to 
stoop to steady themselves when they caught, so 
none of them were at all bow-legged, and that was 
certainly an advantage over two-legged boys. 

But they never played marbles, for they could not 
kneel down properly, though it was a great saving 

favors. This made the Centaurs envious, and they 
did their best to make the young Greeks' lives a 
burden to them. They would not let them play 
ball, because they had only two legs, nor race, 
though Crantor was a first-rate runner, nor even 
let them chase the old woman's geese. So Cran- 


in trouser-knees. They ran races, though, and 
made splendid time. " Rhcetus " was the best racer 
for two school terms, so the record said, and the 
name of the champion for the next year must have 
been kicked off out of envy, for our explorer 
noticed a big piece of rock chipped off", just under 
Rhcetus's name. They could not have boat races, 
of course, but they had swimming matches, and 
you may imagine that a boy with four legs and two 
arms could make pretty fast time. 

They were a right conceited set, those Centaurs, 
but they had a "take down," when two Greek boys 
from the mainland came to school. These boys 
had only two legs, like our boys here, and the Cen- 
taur boys made no end of fun of them. But when 
Chiron saw that the two young Greeks, " Crates " 
and "Crantor," were studious and polite, he used 
to ride them on his back, and show them other 

tor and Crates gave up, and turned their attention to 
the polite arts, hoping their turn would come soon. 

And it did. 

Crates and Crantor had a cousin, a pretty little 
Greek girl named Celena, who came to visit them 
one day. She brought a splendid cake for the 
boys, and some honey from Hymettus, so, of 
course, all the boys were anxious to please her. 
They ran races, and played ball, and jumped fences, 
and Celena said they were very smart. 

Then Crates turned a hand-spring, and Crantor 
stood on his head. 

" Can you do that ? " asked Celena. 

The Centaurs were ashamed, but they had to 
own up that it was impossible. 

" Well, then," said Celena, " can't you get me 
some nuts? There is a tree full of them." 

The Centaur boys all gathered around the tree, 


and reached up as far as they could, but having throwing them down to Celena, who thanked them 

gathered all the nuts within reach some days very prettily, and turned up her pretty Greek nose 

before, they could get none now for Celena. at the unhappy Centaur boys. And after that 

"Why don't you climb up, stupids?" said she. Crates and Crantor held their heads high enough. 

Then all those Centaur boys were covered with " For some things," sighed the Centaur boys, 

confusion, for not one of them could climb a tree. "it is better to be a two-legged boy." and then 

Crates and Crantor could, and in a minute they they grew more modest, and went to work to 

were on the topmost branches gathering nuts and study the polite arts. 


By C. Perry. 

I AM feeling very badly ; everything is going to smash : 

All the things I have believed in are going with a crash ! 

The folks are growing learned, and all their wretched lore is 

Used to shake a fellow's faith in his best-beloved stories. 

The fairies have been scattered, and the genii they have gone, 

There are no enchanted castles ; they have vanished, every one. 

Aladdin never lived, and the dear Scheherazade, 

Though very entertaining, was a much mistaken lady. 

Of course I see through Santa Claus, I had to, long ago; 

And Christmas will be going, the next thing that I know, 

For I heard, I was n't listening — I heard the parson say, 

He had really — yes had really — grave doubts about the day. 

And as for Master Washington, they say the goose should catch it, 

Who believed a single minute in that story of the hatchet. 

They've given a rap at Crusoe, and dear old Friday. Why ! 

We '11 all believe in Friday, we boys will, till we die ! 

They may say it's not "authentic," and such like if they dare! 

When they strike a blow at Friday, they hit us boys. So there ! 

And I 've been reading in a book, writ by some college swell, 

That there never was a genuine, a real live William Tell ! 

That he was just a myth, or what we boys would call a sell: 

That he did n't shoot the apple, nor Gesler, not a bit — 

That all the other nations have a legend just like it. 

I think it 's little business for a college man to fight 

Against these dear old stories and send them out of sight. 

And all the boys are just as mad ! and so the girls are, too; 

And so we called a meeting to decide what we should do. 

And we passed some resolutions, because that is the one 

And only way for meetings, 'when it 's all that can be done. 

I send you here a list : 

Resolved, that there was a William Tell; 
That by his bow and arrow the tyrant Gesler fell. 
Resolved, that he was not a myth, whatever that may be — 
But that he shot the apple and Switzerland was free. 
Resolved, that Crusoe lived, and Friday, and the goat. 
Resolved, that little Georgy his father's fruit-tree smote, 
And owned up like a hero. Resolved, that all the science 
Of all the learned professors shall not shake our firm reliance 
In the parties we have mentioned ; and we do hereby make known 
The fact that we boys feel that we have some rights of our own — 
And request that in the future these rights be let alone. 





(A Farm-house Story.) 

By William O. Stoddard, Author of " Dab Kinzer," etc. 

Chapter I. 

" SHE can do it. I give it up. They could n't 
be making a better show if they tried. Aunt Ke- 
ziah said she 'd have her peonies in bloom when 
the city folks got here. She 's done it, but I 
was n't mor 'n half sure she could." 

The sun had not been up an hour yet, but he 
was shining full and warm in the rosy face of the 
very plump, healthy-looking boy who stood there, 
on the grass, looking down at the peonies. 

"The old tub's choke full of 'em," he con- 
tinued. " They 're almost all burst out, now. 
They '11 burst the tub next. What fat, red-looking 
fellows they are. Aunt Keziah says I 'm like 'em. 
I don't care. They 're real pretty. Anyhow, I 
don't believe I '11 tumble all to pieces, as they will 
when they get through bursting. I 'm fat, all the 
year round." 

"Hullo, Piney!" 

He did not turn around, or even take his hands 
out of his pockets, as he answered : 

" Hullo, Kyle, is that you ? Drove your cows to 
pasture ? I have." 

" Course I have, or I would n't be here. What 's 
the matter with your pinies ? Looks as if the tub 
was sinking with 'em." 

"Sinking? You 'd sink if you had all those 
flowers to carry. How red they are ! " 

" Reddest kind. Aunt Keziah named you after 
'em, did n't she ?" 

" So she says." 

" They 're redder 'n you are. They 're a good 
deal handsomer, too." 

" I aint a flower, and I don't live in a tub. Aunt 
Keziah says I burst everything she puts on me, 
though, just as they do. That 's why she makes 
all my clothes so loose." 

" They 're bursting all theirs, and no mistake. 
Glad there 's no danger of my skin cracking round 
like that." 

" I say, Kyle, how 'd you like to go a-fishing?" 

" Tip top. That 's what brought me over. It 's 

" We can't go next Saturday, you know." 

" No," said Kyle ; " and I have n't half learned 
my piece for the Academy Exhibition." 

"I 've learned mine. 'T is n't that I 'm afraid 

"What then?" said Kyle, in surprise. 

"What then?" echoed Piney, sharply. "Why, 
the Examination, of course." 

" O, that 's nothing. Wilbur begins with a W, 
and that puts my name 'most at the bottom of the 
list. Bill Young and I talked it over. They wont 
get down to us." 

" They '11 get to me. Then wont I turn red in 
the face and forget everything ! " 

"Piney! Piney! Piney! Come in to break- 

A shrill, sweet, girlish voice was calling very 
positively from the top of the steps in the middle 
of the front piazza, and Piney started for the house. 

"I '11 come over after breakfast," shouted Kyle 
Wilbur after him. 

" He ought not to miss that," muttered Piney, 
as he walked along. "Aunt Keziah says his 
face 'd do for a hatchet. Why can't she call me 
some other name. But, then, Dick 's the nick- 
name for Richard, and I would n't like that any 
better. Anyhow, she might have picked out a 
meaner flower than they are. Bull-thistles are 

" Piney, why don't you hurry?" 

"What for, Roxy?" 

"Why, for breakfast. It 's all ready. I 've 
been helping Aunt Keziah." 

" Did you boil the radishes?" 

" Not this time. Guess I know better than that, 
now ; but I picked the strawberries, and put lots 
of sugar on them." 

" Brown sugar?" 

" No, of course not. I put on the white, fine 
sugar, out of the wooden box. Aunt Keziah put 
it out on the table, and I sugared the berries." 

The look on Piney's face told very plainly of his 
liking for strawberries and cream, with plenty of 
sugar. As for Roxy, her rosy face was full of pride 
over her morning's performances. It was not so 
plump as her brother's, although her eyes and hair 
were as dark, and any one would have said she was 
his sister. She was younger, too, — not over seven 
or eight years, perhaps, — while Piney must have 
been somewhere between thirteen and fifteen. 

When a boy is so evidently large for his age, it 
is not always easy to say just how old he is. 

Roxy was not large for her age ; she was only a 
little too old for it, so that she sometimes walked 
into mistakes. Such, for instance, as boiling the 
crisp, fresh radishes. 




While she and Piney went in to breakfast, the 
sun rose higher, very slowly indeed, but steadily, 
promising a grand, warm, June day. He was not 
looking down, that morning, upon many prettier 
places than that valley. 

The old farm-house stood right at the head of a 


little lake. It was big and white, with a high, 
peaked roof, from which the dormer windows 
looked out as if they were forever watching for 
somebody to come around the turn of the dusty 
road. A great many people did come, too, but 
the windows on the roof sat right there and waited 
for somebody else, all the same. 

There were no blinds up there, but there were 

green ones to all the windows of the lower story, 

and those on the front piazza came right down to 

the floor. 

The barns and the hayricks were away back 

from the road, and the ground sloped from them 
down to the front gate. That was toward the 
east and the sunrise. On the south it sloped 
to the very edge of the lake, and they kept 
the grass mowed down close, so as to make a 
beautiful green lawn. 

You could have measured out a dozen good cro- 
quet grounds on that lawn if you had wanted to. 
Away to the north, a mile and more, there was 
another little lake, and beyond that another ; 
but a little bit of a river ran into the upper one, 
and out of that into the next, and out of that into 
the third, and out of that into the valley below. 
So a man in a boat could row himself through all 
those lakes and then down-stream. 

Nobody but the Indians at the reservation, long 
miles to the north, could pronounce the name 
of that river correctly, but when the white men 
gave up trying and spelled it out, they called it 
the Ti-ough-ne-au-ga. That was as near as 
they could have hit it if they had shot at it. 

That is, if they had tried with a bow and 
arrow and could not shoot very well. And the 
little river was crookeder than any name that 
even an Indian could have given to it. 

Roxy had been in a great hurry to have Piney 
come in. To tell the truth, she was apt to be 
a little ahead of time, and when Piney entered 
the dining-room the only person yet seated at 
the table was his three-year-old brother Chub in 
his high chair. 

There was no need of asking how he came by 
his name, but just at that moment Chub's face 
was very red indeed, and he was pounding the 
table with a spoon, while he uttered a squall that 
made Aunt Keziah put down the coffee-pot and 
rush in from the kitchen. 

" Roxy ! Roxy ! What are you doing to that 
baby ? " 

" Nothing at all. I brought him a whole 
saucer full of strawberries, and I poured the 
cream all over them." 

" I never told you to," exclaimed Aunt Keziah. 
" You 're a meddlesome girl. Piney, ring the 
bell for your mother to come down. Roxy, tell 

Ann to bring in the breakfast. What can be the 

matter with that child ! " 

"Berry sour," whimpered poor Chub, as he 

pushed the saucer away from him. 

"Sour? No, they 're not. You naughty boy, 

to scare me so." 

But even the arrival of his mother, a tall, pallid, 

4 6 



languid-looking lady, evidently not in good health, 
who came in just then, failed to pacify Chub. It 
was not till all the rest were seated at the table 
that the cause of his trouble came out. 

It was almost a matter of course that Piney 
should be the next person to try a spoonful of 
those berries. 

" Mother ! Aunt Keziah ! " sputtered he, as he 
reached suddenly out for a tumbler of water. 
" The berries are salted ! " 

"Salted?" exclaimed Aunt Keziah. "Piney 
Hunter, what do you mean ? " 

"Richard, my son," murmured his mother; 

" Yes, mother. Just you taste 'em. I don't 
wonder Chub said they were sour." 

" O, Roxy ! Roxy Hunter! This is some of 
your work," exclaimed her mother, dolefully. 

" No, mother, I saw Aunt Keziah bring the box 
out herself." 

" The salt box! So I did, and the sugar box, 
too. They 're just alike. That child '11 p'ison us 
all, yet ! " 

Aunt Keziah's face was as red with vexation, 
almost, as Piney's own. His, though, was redder 
than usual, for he was trying not to laugh, and 
that was always hard work for him. 

"Roxy," said her mother, "you can go right 
out into the garden and pick some more berries, 
in place of the spoiled ones. When you come in 
you are not to have any." 

" Glad there 's plenty of 'em on the vines," said 
Aunt Keziah. " These '11 all have to be thrown 
away. But, Elizabeth, what are we to do with 
Roxy ? Suppose her uncle and aunt and all the 
rest had been here. I 'd have died of mortifica- 

" Uncle Liph would n't," said Piney. " He 'd 
have laughed." 

" Not with salted berries in his mouth," said 
Aunt Keziah ; but poor, crestfallen Roxy was 
already marching through the back door with her 
basket on her arm, muttering : 

" I wish 1 'd tasted it before I put it on, so I 'd 
have known if it was sugar." 

Chapter II. 

There were, indeed, vines and strawberries in 
great abundance in that garden, and Aunt Keziah 
Merrill was as proud of all that grew there as she 
was of her peonies and other flowers. 

Roxy picked away as fast as she could, but was 
glad enough, in a minute or so, when her big 
brother came to help her. 

"Don't cry, Roxy," he said, as he knelt near 
her, " these berries are just as good as the others." 

" But I can't have any," whimpered Roxy. 

"I '11 ask mother if you can't have some of 
mine. Kyle Wilbur and I are going fishing after 

" O, can I go with you ?" 

" Not this time. You see, Roxy, we want to 
catch some fish." 

" I can catch fish." 

"Yes; but I don't believe mother and Aunt 
Keziah '11 let you go." 

Roxy was very much of Piney's opinion on that 
head, but she asked, all the same, as soon as they 
got in with their berries. 

" In the boat ?" exclaimed her mother. "And 
get upset, and may be get drowned ? " 

" O, she would n't get into the water," said Aunt 
Keziah ; " but she 's been a naughty girl this 
morning. Besides, I want her in the house. I 'm 
going to make some cake." 

" Cake? O, aunty, I 'd rather make cake than 
catch fish." 

" But you must let things alone. I can't afford 
to have my cake salted." 

" I wont touch " 

" Mother," said Piney, "let me give Roxy some 
of the berries I picked." 

"Just a few, then; I want her to remember 
about the sugar." 

"About the salt, you mean," said Aunt Keziah. 
" Well, she 's a pretty good little girl if she would 
n't be so forward. I '11 give her a few of mine." 

Chub said nothing about giving anybody a share 
of the berries in his saucer, but he tasted them 
carefully before he tried a whole spoonful at once. 

Piney did not linger long at the table, and when 
he reached the shore of the little lake, with his rod 
and line all ready, and his bait in an old blacking- 
box, there was Kyle Wilbur, sitting in the boat, 
waiting for him. 

" Guess you did n't eat much breakfast," said 

" Yes I did. What made you stay so long ? " 

" O, I had to pick some more berries." And 
Piney told him the story of Roxy's blunder, in a 
way that made Kyle laugh all over. If Aunt 
Keziah could have seen him, she would have said 
it was the best thing in the world for a thin, peaked 
boy like him. 

In a minute more they were rowing away, 
straight across the lake, toward the woods on the 
other side. Both of them said they were sure the 
fish bit better over there. 

The boat was a good one, not at all likely to get 
upset. It was square at each end, and the boys 
called it " the scow." 

It was quite good enough for them to fish from, 
and may be they were right about the habits of the 
fish, for they did bite very well, that morning, 

i8 7 o.] 



along the shore where the tall trees leaned over the 
water. The day was beginning to be a warm one, 
and it may be the fish were thinking that part of 
the lake would be shadier by and by. 

Both Piney and Kyle were pretty good fisher- 
men, and the perch and sun-fish and bull-heads 
came in pretty fast for an hour or so. Piney even 
hooked a pickerel that weighed more than a 

" I caught a bigger one than that, last week," 
said Kyle. 

" O, that 's nothing. Aunt Keziah says they eat 
more than any other fish, and can't get fat on it, 

" I must be a sort of a pickerel, then. I say, 
Piney, have you practiced your piece for the Exhi- 
bition ? " 

" Mother made me say it to her, once, but I 
don't believe I can say it before a crowd." 

"Why don't you try and speak it out here? 
What is it?" 

" O, everybody knows it. It begins, ' O, why 
does the white man follow my path.' " 

" That 's an Indian piece. You ought to speak 
it in the woods. Let 's go ashore and try it." 

Piney colored very red, but he answered, 
promptly : 

"Well, I will, if you wont tell anybody. Then 
will you speak yours, after I 'm done? " 

" Of course I will. We 've got fish enough." 

" No, we have n't. But we can come back and 
catch some more. Let 's go ashore now." 

The anchor, a big, heavy stone, was at once 
pulled up from the bottom and the scow as quickly 
fastened to a bush on the bank, while the two 
young orators went on under the shade of the 

They knew there would be nobody there to hear 
them, for all the men about the place were busy in 
the fields. In fact, the woods were as pleasant 
and still as could have been asked for, and if the 
tall hickories and maples were getting ready to 
listen, they did not say a word about it to confuse 
the speakers. 

" Hurrah, Kyle ! Look at what I 've found." 
suddenly exclaimed Piney, who had been stooping 
down to tie one of his shoes before he began his 
piece. " I 'm to be an Indian warrior, and here 
I 've been and picked up an Indian arrow head ! " 

Kyle examined it eagerly enough, although he 
remarked coolly : 

"That's nothing. People pick 'em up every- 
where. Father plowed up a stone hatchet last 
spring. That 's a pretty big arrow head, though. 
Most of 'em are little fellows." 

It was a piece of flint, nearly as wide as a half 
dollar, and more than twice as long, tapering to a 

point at one end with sharp, ragged edges, and at 
the other end it had a sort of knob with a notch 
in it. 

" That 's to tie it to the arrow by," said Piney. 
" Uncle Liph has any number of 'em. I mean to 
give him this." 

"I guess father 'd let him have the stone 
hatchet," said Kyle. "Did n't you say he was 
coming to visit you ? " 

" We expect him here to-night. Now, Kyle, 
you stand over there by that hickory, and I '11 
stand here on this knoll and I '11 say my piece." 

He brandished the stone arrow-head in his right 
hand, and launched into his recitation. 

" O, why does the white man follow my path 
Like the hound on the tiger's track ? 
Does the hue of my dark cheek waken his wrath ? 
Does he covet the bow at my back?" 

Right there Piney pointed fiercely over his 
shoulder with the arrow-head, resolving to have 
some kind of a real bow provided in time for use 
at the Exhibition. 

He went safely through with verse after verse 
of the poetry, while Kyle Wilbur leaned against 
the hickory tree and watched him. 

"First rate," exclaimed Kyle. "But you '11 
never do it that way before a crowd. Are you 
sure you '11 remember it all ? " 

" Kind o' half way sure." 

" Wish I was, but I aint." 

" Guess I '11 have the arrow-head in one hand 
and the stone hatchet in the other. Then I can 
put it through. What piece did you learn? " 

" Oh, I picked out ' The boy stood on the burn- 
ing deck.' It 's awful old, but then I 've spoken 
it before, and I wont be so likely to break down 
in it." 

"'The boy stood on the burning deck,'" re- 
peated Piney. " Why, that does n't belong to 
the woods. You ought to practice that in the 

" Could n't set it on fire, and it has n't a square 
inch of deck." 

" Oh, we can fix that. Come on. Gather all 
the birch bark and hickory bark you can lay your 
hands on." 

"Why, what '11 you do?" 

"I'll show you," answered Piney. "I've got 
an idea in my head." 

" You 're always getting ideas in your head," 
grumbled Kyle ; but he did as he was bidden, for 
it was clear that of those two boys, Piney Hunter 
was decidedly the leader. 

It took but a few minutes to gather an armful 
of dry bark, and Piney hurried toward the scow. 
He dropped his load on a dry spot in the bottom. 




Next he picked up a long, wide, flat board, 
which lay there, and laid it across the boat. It 
reached over for nearly a foot on either side. 

" There 's your deck, Kyle," said Piney. " Now 
for your fire." 

The pieces of bark were quickly heaped up on 
the board, and a match and a wisp of paper from 
Piney's pockets did the rest. The fire was there. 

you to stop till you 've done speaking your piece. 
Now for it." 

As he said that, Piney shoved the boat away 
from the shore, and the bark began to blaze and 

"The boy" — began Kyle, in a somewhat un- 
steady voice, as he stood up, striking an attitude, 
behind the small bonfire on the board. 


" But," objected Kyle, steadying himself in the 
boat, " that is n't enough of a deck to give a 
fellow a fair show, and you 've made so much fire 
I can't stand on it." 

" Can't help that," said Piney. " You can 
stand close to it. And you can make believe 
there are masts and sails on fire over your head. 
I '11 be your father, and I 'm dead and can't tell 

The boy stood on the burning deck 

Whence all but him had fled. 
The flames that lit the batde's wreck 

Shone round him ' 

Ough — ough — ough — ough — look a-here, Piney 
Hunter, you 've swung the boat around so the 
wind blows the smoke in my face. I '11 cough my 
head off — ough — ough ! " 

" I guess the real boy in the story must have 
had a coughing spell before the ship blew up," 
said Piney. " Go ahead. This ship wont blow 
up. Not till you finish your piece." 




There was no help for it, Piney seemed so very 
determined ; and so Kyle went bravely on for sev- 
eral stanzas, but just as he was exclaiming, — 

" But once again he cried aloud, 
' Say, father, must I stay ? ' " 

he was compelled to add : 

" Hold on, Piney, if his boat had rocked like 
that, he would n't have stayed in it half a minute. 
Don't be mean, now, I 'm 'most through." 

" I wont," said Piney, and Kyle was really 
doing splendidly, when Piney suddenly seized the 
board with its blazing load and shoved the whole 
thing over into the lake. 

" It is n't time to blow up," said Kyle, reproach- 

" Go right on," said Piney. " The deck was 
burned through, that 's all. You '11 have to speak 
the rest of it without any fire." 

Kyle went on without missing a word, but he 
sat down very suddenly at the end of it, as if he 
had doubts as to Piney Hunter's intentions. 

"That's tip top," exclaimed Piney. "It 's a 
good deal better 'n mine. But then they wont 
let us set the academy hall platform on fire, you 
know. You '11 miss your deck." 

" I wont be choked with birch-bark smoke, 
either. Let 's catch some more fish." 

"All right," said Piney. 

And so they did, but when they finally got tired 
of it and rowed across the lake for some dinner, 
Aunt Keziah hardly looked at Piney's string of fish 
before she asked him : 

" What made you kindle a fire in the woods ? " 

" Did n't kindle any, Aunt Keziah. That fire 
was out on the water." 

"In the boat? What for?" 

"To help Kyle Wilbur speak his piece. He 
had to have some sort of a burning deck." 

A few more questions and answers explained the 

" Piney Hunter," exclaimed Aunt Keziah, as 
the tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks, 
'• you '11 set the lake on fire next. Roxy, keep 
your fingers away from those fish. There, I 
thought so. One of the bullheads has pricked you 
with his horns." 

"Oh, aunty, it hurts me awfully. I '11 never 
touch one of them again. Not as long as I Jive." 

" Better not, then. It 's a good string, though, 
and I 'm glad of it. Your uncle 's fond offish." 

" And I 've found an Indian arrow-head for 
him," said Piney, "and Kyle Wilbur has promised 
me a stone hatchet his father plowed up." 

"I 'm sure he '11 be pleased with them," said 
Aunt Keziah. " Come, now, it 's dinner-time." 
Vol. VII.— 4. 

Chapter III. 

Every now and then, while they were at dinner, 
Roxy gave a pitying look at the thumb of her 
right hand. There was a very distinct mark on it, 
for the " horns " of a bull-head are sharp and stiff, 
and she had picked up the slippery little fish with- 
out thinking of them. 

" I did n't hurt him a bit," she said to herself, 
but Piney heard her, and answered : 

"No, but I did, when I caught him, and per- 
haps he knew you were a sister of mine." 

" Teach her a lesson," said Aunt Keziah. " I 
sometimes wonder she has any fingers left." 

But for all that, Aunt Keziah put on her specta- 
cles and looked closely at the dent on Roxy's 

" There, dear, don't make any more fuss about 
it. I guess he did n't mean to hurt you." 

" Well, he did n't. Not much," said Roxy, 
"and I hope Uncle Liph '11 eat him up." 

"All but his horns," said Piney. 

It was a splendid summer day, and the doors 
were all wide open. So were the windows, although 
the blinds were closed. 

Up on the roof, where there were no blinds, the 
dormer windows seemed more wide awake than 
ever, as if they were watching for the visitors from 
the city. 

It was hours too early for them, whether the 
windows knew it or not ; but a great many other 
travelers came along the road. The largest com- 
pany that arrived together was a flock of sheep, 
with a man and two boys and a dog to keep them 
going, and the noise they all made brought out 
Piney and his sister. 

Dinner was about over, but Roxy came out with 
a piece of pie in her hand. 

There was nothing very wonderful in a flock of 
sheep, though that was quite a large one, but not a 
great distance behind it there came such a queer- 
looking little man that Piney laughed outright as 
he exclaimed : 

" If there is n't the Woodchuck ! " 

" Why, it 's the blackberry Indian himself," said 
Roxy. "And there 's Kyle Wilbur, coming up to 
the gate." 

" Yes, and there 's Hawknose John, coming 
around the turn. He 's trying to catch up with the 

" He 's the chief, is n't he ?" 

" Not exactly. Not the head chief. The head 
chief lives in a good house, up at the Reservation, 
and he would n't pick berries or whittle bows and 
arrows for anybody." 

" Piney, did you hear that ?" 

"Why, if the Woodchuck is n't trying to sing." 




" He 's funny, is n't he." 

" Come down to the gate, Roxy. I want to see 
Hawknose John." 

Kyle Wilbur got there about as soon as they 
did, and the Woodchuck came along in the middle 
of the road, singing a queer chant, or song, full of 
rough, harsh-sounding words. 

" That 's real old Onondaga, Roxy," said Piney. 
" It 's Indian. His mouth must be made different 
from yours or mine." 

"And his ears, too," said Roxy, "or he could n't 
know what he 's singing." 

The Woodchuck was a short, broad man, re- 
markably dirty and ragged. His face was dark 
and ugly, and his long, coarse black hair came 
down on his shoulders from under all that was left 
of what must once have been a white man's high 
black hat. He had put a red ribbon around it, 
and stuck a feather in the ribbon on one side, and 
a strip of shining tin on the other, so that he cer- 
tainly was a very gay and funny-looking old Indian 
that day. 

The man who was now coming close up to him 
was a very different sort of person. He was as 
dark and Indian-looking as the Woodchuck, but 
he was very tall and thin, with a high, hooked 
nose, that gave his face almost a fierce expression. 
In fact, if Hawknose John had lived in the old 
times, when his tribe was a great nation, it is very 
likely he would have been a warrior, for he looked 
like one as it was, he was so stern and stood so 

He spoke a word or two to the Woodchuck, in 
harsh, guttural tones, and that Indian at once 
stopped singing and stood still. 

John was evidently very angry, but it could not 
have been about the feather or the piece of tin, for 
he, too, had a wide red ribbon around the straw 
hat he was wearing, and he had on an old blue 
swallow-tail coat, with gilt buttons. 

" Is he swearing?" asked Roxy. 

"No," said Kyle Wilbur, "Hawknose John 
would n't swear. He 's as good as a deacon, but 
anybody can see he 's mad. The Woodchuck 's 
always getting into some sort of scrape." 

He was in one now, beyond a doubt, for the tall 
Onondaga raised his long right arm, when he 
ended his rough scolding, and struck him hard on 
the forehead with his clenched fist. 

It made a sharp, cracking sound, as the blow 
fell, and over went the Woodchuck in the dust, as 
if he had been an Indian nine-pin. He was not 
much hurt, however, for he at once picked himself 
up, rubbing his forehead, and marched off along 
the north road without saying a word. Hawknose 
John said nothing, either, but pointed threaten- 
ingly in the direction of the Indian Reservation. 

"John," said Piney, "what made you knock 
him down? He does n't belong to you." 

" Woodchuck big fool. Brink whisky. Hawk- 
nose John good friend. Knock him down and send 
him home. Go home sober now. Not waste any 
more money for squaw. He sell berries for squaw. 
Promise not drink. Go wicked just a little. Knock 
him down, so he stop right there. White man not 
know enough to do that." 

" Yes," said Piney, "but what if he 'd been a 
big Indian and you a little one?" 

" Boy ask too many question," said the tall On- 
ondaga, with dignity. 

" Got any potatoes?" he asked, presently. 

" Plenty of 'em," said Piney. " Is that bow for 

Piney had been watching, from the first, an un- 
usually long and handsome-looking bow which 
John carried in his left hand. It was beauti- 
fully polished, but was likely to require a strong 
arm to bend and use it. John now lifted it at 
arm's length, and held it up for the boys to admire, 
but slowly remarked : 

" No. No sell him. Hawknose John give him 

" Whom will you give it to ? " asked Kyle Wilbur. 

" Give it to Aunt Keziah. So she give John 
some potatoes. No sell bow." 

" O, that 's it," said Piney. " Let me show it to 
her, John. It 's just the kind of bow she wants." 

Kyle and Roxy laughed while Piney seized the 
bow and hurried back into the house. 

" Aunt Keziah," he shouted, " see what a splen- 
did present Hawknose John has brought you. 
Just what you were wishing for." 

" Me, Piney? A present to me? Why, it 's <t 
hickory bow. What a pretty one. But what do I 
want of a bow?" 

" O, you can lend it to me. I '11 take care of it 
for you. Besides, Hawknose John wants you to 
make him a present of some potatoes." 

" He 's always wanting something. They 're a 
lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing set." 

" O, Aunty, you ought to have seen him knock 
down the Woodchuck and send him home, just 
because he 'd taken one drink of whisky ! " ( 

"Did he? I always said there was something 
good about John. How many potatoes does he 

" He did n't say. He can't carry a great many. 
It 's a splendid bow." 

" Well, tell him he may have as many as he can 
carry in a sack. New potatoes can't be had yet, and 
good old ones, like ours, are high and scarce." 

Very likely Hawknose John knew all that, for 
Aunt Keziah's skill at making potatoes "keep 
over" was as well known as some of her other wis- 




doms. She was very likely, too, to get good prices 
for what she sold, and she knew her Indian ac- 
quaintance was too lazy a man to carry a heavy 
load far in that weather. 

" Piney's a good boy," she said to his mother, 
"and I like to humor him. Besides, it 's only a 
few potatoes." 

When the bargain was completed with Hawk- 
nose John, however, that tall, thin person pulled 
from under his blue coat a very stout-looking sack, 
and silently followed Piney to the barn. 

"Have what can carry?" he remarked, as he 
leaned over the side of the potato-bin, and began 
to pick out the best ones and drop them into his 

" Yes, John, you 're only to have as many as 
you can carry." 

" Good. John like that. You like potatoes ?" 

" O, yes, I eat them." 

" Good for boy. Eat a heap. John got boy at 
home. Eat all day." , 

Piney began to think there must have been a 
famine at the Reservation, as John worked away at 
his bag. He never ceased putting in more and 
more, until it was so full that he could hardly tie 
the mouth of it. 

" You can't carry that," said Piney. 

" You see. Hawknose John big Indian. Put 
him right on shoulder." 

And so he did, and walked out of the barn with it, 
although it made him stagger and waver in his 
walk. And Aunt Keziah, happening to look out of 
the kitchen window just then, had to exclaim: 

C To be co 

"Well, I declare! Why, that Indian rascal 
has taken a good two bushels and more. It '11 
kill him if he tries to carry it. And all that for 
a bit of hickory wood." 

Hawknose John did not seem to notice anybody, 
however, until he had marched out of the front 
gate and along the road for several rods. He then 
carefully slipped the bag of potatoes down on the 
grass and took a seat beside it. 

Piney and Kyle and Roxy had followed him, 
wondering what he meant to do, and the former 
asked : 

"John, how '11 you ever carry that bag to the 
Reservation ?" 

" Boy ask too many question. My potatoes now. 
Aunt Keziah give big bag full. Wagon come 
along, by and by. Put 'em in and take 'em home 
to squaw." 

There was a look of something very much like 
fun on his dark face as he said this, and Kyle Wil- 
bur said to Piney : 

" He 's got a big price for his bow, anyhow. 
Your Aunt Keziah is n't sharp enough to make 
trades with Indians." 

" She is with white men, then. I never saw her 
beaten so badly before. Anyhow, his little Indians 
must have something to eat, and the bow 's a 
splendid one." 

" Will you teach me to shoot?" asked Roxy. 

"Certainly," answered Piney, absently, but in 
high good humor. Already he was planning a 
splendid frolic. The bow and arrow would be just 
the thing ! 

tltinucd. ) 

Bv Alice D. Wilde. 

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, there 
lived, in a palace in France, a poor little boy. You 
will wonder, if he were a poor little boy, why he 
should have lived in a palace ; but he was not poor 
in that sense. He had no lack of food and clothes ; 
cold and hunger were unknown to him. On the 
contrary, no little child was ever more tenderly 
cared for than he. His home was in a superb 
palace, richly furnished and adorned with rare pict- 
ures and fine statuary. His play-ground was a 
beautiful garden, with winding walks and green 
alleys leading to summer-houses and pavilions, and 
where fountains, gushing forth in the midst of beds 
of lovely flowers, cooled the air with their spray. 

Besides all this, he had a little plot of ground of his 
own, which you may be sure he cared for far more 
than he did for all the stateliness and variety of his 
father's garden. 

He worked in it quite diligently, and great was 
his pride and delight when at length he could carry 
a bouquet of his own raising to his beautiful young 

In winter, or when the weather was too stormy 
to play out-of-doors, he had numberless bright and 
costly toys, and his sister — who was older than him- 
self, and who was very sweet and gentle — would 
play with and amuse him for hours. But with all 
these lovely things about them continually, they 

* See Frontispiece. 




were not allowed to think only of themselves ; for 
their mother taught them to care for the poor and 
helpless, and to be ready always to give up their 
own pleasure for the comfort and happiness of 
those about them. 

One New Year's Day, — which in France is the 
great day for making presents, as Christmas is with 
us, — she caused a number of splendid toys to be 
brought to the palace, and spreading them out on 
a table before her, she called her children, and bade 
them look at these fine playthings, which she had 
intended to give to them as New Year's gifts ; but, 
owing to the severity of the winter and the conse- 
quent suffering among the poor, she should instead, 
if they were willing, buy clothing and food for those 
who needed both so sadly. The children gave up 
their toys very sweetly and cheerfully, and their 
mother had the pretty things taken away, paying 
the man for his trouble in bringing them. 

But you must not imagine that this little boy's 
whole time was taken up with play. No, indeed ; 
he had a very kind and wise governess, who taught 
him a great many useful things, and a tutor who 
gave him instruction in all the manly studies, arts 
and exercises of those times. 

He was very diligent in his studies, and made 
wonderful progress. His memory was very good, 
and he could recite long poems with great correct- 
ness and taste. 

It was very necessary that he should be thor- 
oughly well educated ; for, child as he was, he was 
a very important personage in France, second only 
to his own father, and it was hoped that one day 
he would hold the highest position in the kingdom 
— that of its sovereign. 

Surrounded as he was by all this wealth and lux- 
ury, tenderly beloved by his sweet sister, the pet 
and darling of his kind father and lovely young 
mother, the pride and hope of a great nation, you 
are no doubt wondering why I should call him a 
poor little boy. 

There is a certain Greek proverb which says, 
" Call no man happy till his death," and it applies 
perfectly to this young prince. 

His name, which you have not yet heard, was 
Louis. Louis Capet, I suppose, was his full name ; 
but, as he was the son of Louis XVI., king of 
France, he never was called by his last name. 
Kings and princes always sign their first name only. 
He was not even called Prince Louis, as he would 
have been if he had been an English prince ; but 
was called the Dauphin, a title always bestowed on 
the eldest son of the king of France. His sister, 
although she was only a little girl and a princess, 
was called simply Madame. 

But in spite of his youth and the love and tender- 
ness that would have shielded him from all harm, 

clouds began to overshadow the sunny brightness 
of his life. When he drove out through the streets 
of beautiful Paris with his father and mother, in- 
stead of the shouts of joy, the cheers and demon- 
strations of affection, with which their presence had 
always been greeted by the people, there began to 
be, first, silence, broken by a few faint cheers ; then 
low mutterings of anger, which after a time devel- 
oped into loud and insulting remarks. 

Fierce and scowling faces peered into the car- 
riage, and the shrill voices of coarse women were 
heard in horrid yells and mocking laughter. 

Louis wasno longer glad to accompany his father 
and mother in their drives. He would have pre- 
ferred the quiet and peacefulnessof his own garden. 
He used to ponder over these things, and wonder 
what could be the meaning of so great a change. 
His usually bright face looked serious and perplexed. 
His father asked him one day why he looked so 

Little Louis said, "Papa, why are the people, 
who used to love you so much, so angry with you 
now ? What have you done to them ? " 

The king took his son on his knees, and replied: 
" My child, I wished to make my people happy. 
I asked for money to pay the expenses of the wars, 
as all my ancestors have done ; the parliament 
opposed me, and said that the people alone had the 
right to grant it. I therefore called, together the 
principal inhabitants of every town, at Versailles. 
This assembly is called the States General. When 
they were assembled, they required of me conces- 
sions which I could not make, either with due 
respect for myself, or with justice to you, who will 
be king after me. Wicked men have made the 
people angry, and this has caused the crowds and 
trouble of the last few days ; the people themselves 
must not be blamed for them." 

But little Louis, although he accepted his father's 
explanation and asked no more questions, yet was 
not satisfied. He could not understand why the 
people should be so angry at being asked for 

Carefully shielded as he had been from every 
rough wind, he could not realize that there were 
thousands of little children in thesame city with him- 
self, who, in all their lives, had never known what 
it was to have enough to eat ; who, pinched with 
cold and hunger, every night lay down on the bare 
stone floor, huddling together, and drawing their 
wretched rags over their wasted limbs, to try if by 
any means they might keep off the bitter cold. 
But the fathers and mothers, who loved their chil- 
dren as well as the Queen of France loved her little 
ones, knew it was so ; and. in their fierce struggle 
for the barest necessaries of life, they grew hard 
and bitter, and ready to curse the rich lords and 





masters who, as they considered, had ground them cent suffered, as well as the guilty. Louis XVI. 

down and trampled them underfoot. certainly was a better man than the kings before 

Now, in this case, as it often happens, the inno- him had been, and much more careful than they 




not to waste the public money by spending it 
extravagantly on his own pleasures. 

But he was too tender-hearted to rule with a 
strong hand, and too weak in judgment to govern 
wisely ; so the wind which his fathers had sown be- 
came the whirlwind for his reaping. 

The long course of oppression under which the 
people had suffered had made them hard and 
cruel, and when the strong hand which had kept 
them down was exchanged for a weak one, the fierce 
passions of hatred and revenge, which had been 
slumbering in their breasts, were ready to burst 
forth at a word into crimes of such ferocity that the 
world stood aghast. At length, one July day, the 
word was given, and a mob of twelve thousand 
people attacked the Bastille, and set free the pris- 
oners who had been shut up in it. 

After that, matters grew worse every day. Jeer- 
ing and mockery were familiar sounds whenever 
the royal family drove out, and soon the mob 
shouted their brutal insults under the very windows 
of the palace. 

One night at Versailles, after a day of unusual 
tumult, when the rioters had forced themselves into 
the palace itself, Louis lay in his little bed, shaking 
and sobbing with terror. He could not get over 
the shock of seeing his mother insulted, — his 
sweet, beautiful mother, — and his piteous sobs con- 
tinued till the queen came to bid him good- night. 

She soothed him with tender words and comfort- 
ing assurances, until at length he fell asleep. 

He was awakened, about four o'clock the next 
morning, by shrieks and cries and sounds of fire- 
arms ; and, before he had time to do more than 
wonder, his governess came in and hurried him off 
to his father's apartments, where he found his sister 
and the queen, who had barely escaped with her 
life. That same day they were forced to go to 
Paris, whither the fierce mob accompanied them. 

They surrounded the carriage, pressed upon it, 
and peered into it, scanning with cruel eyes the 
unhappy occupants, and with rude, mocking 
laughter, making their coarse comments. 

A band of fish-women — large, broad-shouldered, 
brawny-armed, and fierce, even more vile, degraded 
and brutal than the men, if that were possible- 
stalked on before, their wooden shoes clattering on 
the pavements ; and they cried with hideous yells : 
"We shall no longer want bread, for we have the 
baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's little boy 
with us 1 " 

The poor little dauphin arrived at Paris half dead 
with terror; so much so that the next day, hearing 
some noise in the court-yard of the palace, he threw 
himself into his mother's arms, crying, "Oh, 
mamma, is to-day yesterday again ? " 

From that time there was little peace for the 

royal family. They were captives in their own 
house, surrounded by guards day and night. Once 
they made an attempt to escape, but were discov- 
ered and brought back. And after this, escape was 
impossible for them. They were closely guarded, 
and daily and nightly these scenes of horror and of 
blood were renewed in the great city around them, 
till at length it was almost a relief to them when 
the walls of a prison shut from their sight that 
maddened, yelling mob thirsting for their blood. 

This was the Prison du Temple, and here little 
Louis sometimes walked on the roof with an older 
companion, and threw a few crumbs to the little 
birds, whose freedom the young prince envied. 
For, although he still had good food and a clean 
dwelling, which he shared with his father, mother 
and sister, he was in prison, and could no longer 
enjoy freely the fresh air and warm sunshine. 

At last, the summons came for the king to ap- 
pear before the tribunal to answer for the crime of 
being of royal blood. 

He bade his family a last farewell, embraced 
them tenderly, gave his blessing to his children, 
and bade them trust in God for their deliverance. 

More happy than his wretched wife, in being 
spared the sight of his beloved ones' sufferings, the 
king, forgiving his enemies, calmly yielded up his 
life on the scaffold. 

One night, shortly after the king's execution, the 
guards came to the queen's cell, and roughly told 
her that they must take away the dauphin. The 
unhappy mother, in the extremity of her anguish, 
threw herself before her son, and for a long time 
kept off the guards. But, at length, utterly ex- 
hausted, she fell fainting at their feet, and the 
young prince was then removed. 

The little boy, who had been so carefully nurt- 
ured, so tenderly cherished all his life, was roughly 
thrust into a cold, damp cell, and, with a rude 
push and an oath, was left by the guards to sob 
and cry through the long night for the mother 
who would never come to him again. 

So cruelly was he treated that, in a few months, 
no one would have been able to recognize the 
bright, beautiful young prince in the dirty, squalid, 
neglected little being who inhabited a cell in the 
Prison du Temple. 

Scantily covered with a few filthy rags, his body 
wasted to a mere skeleton, he sat, for the most part, 
on a wretched heap of straw, which served him for 
bed by night and seat by day. 

His food was thrown to him twice a day, and he 
scarcely ever saw a human being save his brutal jail- 
er, Simon, who could hardly be considered human. 

He was not only neglected and starved, he was 
also cruelly beaten and roughly knocked about. 
The hardened wretch, Simon, taught him vile and 




wicked language, and tried to make him as de- 
graded as himself. 

After eighteen months had passed away, the fall 
of Robespierre caused the prison doors to be 
opened ; but the poor little prince, sunk in a heap 
on his bed, took no notice of any one, and when 
his sister came, almost heart-broken and longing 

for a smile of recognition from the only one of her 
family left alive, he had for her only a dull and 
vacant stare. 

His mind was gone, and in a few days the gentle 
Death-angel released him from his misery. 

And so ends the sad, sad story of the last 
Dauphin of France. 


By M. E. Bennett. 

The school-house stood beside the way, 

A shabby building, old and gray, 

With rattling sash, and loose-hung door, 

And rough, uneven walls and floor ; 

And why the little homespun crew 

It gathered were some ways more blest 

Than others, you would scarce have guessed ; 

It is a secret known to few. 

I '11 tell it you. The high-road lay 

Stretched all along the township hill, 

Whence the broad lands sloped either way, 

And smiling up did strive to fill 

At every window, every door, 

The school-house, with that gracious lore 

That God's fair world would fain instill. 

So softly, quietly it came, 

The children never knew its name ; 

Its various, unobtrusive looks 

They counted not as study-books ; 
And yet they could not lift an eye 
From play or labor, dreamily, 
And not find writ in sweetest speech, 
The tender lessons it would teach : 
■ Be gentle, children, brave and true, 
And know the great God loveth you." 

Only the teacher, wise of heart. 
Divined the landscape's blessed art ; 
And when she felt the lag and stir 
Of her young idlers fretting her, 
Out-glancing o'er the meadows wide, 
The ruffling woods, the far hillside, 
She drew fresh breath of God's free grace, 
A gentler look came in her face, 
Her kindly voice caught in its own 
An echo of that pleasant tone 
In which the great world sang its song — 
' Be cheerful, patient, still and strong." 




—23 _T 



By Frank R. Stockton. 

The Gudra's daughter was named Volma. She 
was thirteen years old, and had never been to 
school. Her kind mother had taught her all she 

But as there are many people who do not know 
what a Gudra is, I will state, at once, that a 
Gudra is a giant dwarf. Volma's father belonged 
to a nation of dwarfs, who dwelt among the mount- 
ains. These little people were seldom over three 
feet in height, but the Gudra — the giant among 
them — was between five and six feet high, and 
broad and stout in proportion. He w;as a powerful 
lord among his people, and his size and courage 
gave him additional importance and influence. He 
was very proud of his superior stature and his high 
position, and this pride was the reason why his 
daughter, Volma, had never been to school. He 
considered her far above such a thing as going to 
school with the dwarf children of the country. 

Volma resembled her father, in stature, and, at 
the time of this story, was as large as an ordinary 
girl of her age. She was very good and gentle, 
and would have been glad to go to school, but this 
her haughty father would not allow. One day, 
Volma's mother — who was quite a small woman, 
even for a dwarf — began to talk about her daugh- 
ter's want of education. 

"Education!" cried the Gudra, "I intend she 
shall have an education. But I do not intend that 
she shall waste years in poring over books and 
parchments. She is a girl with a fine mind, like 
mine. She can take in learning instantly. Even 
now, she is a head higher than any woman in the 
country. " 

" But does that make it any more easy for her to 
learn?" asked her mother. 

"Of course it does!" exclaimed the Gudra. 
" She is superior, in every way, to any other child 
in the nation. She shall have an education, but 
she shall have it all at once. I am sure that her 
mind is capable of taking in an excellent education 
in a week." 

This made the Gudra's wife exclaim, in astonish- 
ment, "My !" 

" Of course it is !" cried the Gudra; and then, 
taking up a heavy hammer, he struck a large bell 
which hung in his room. This was his manner of 
summoning his attendants. 

One stroke brought the attendant of the first 
rank, two strokes him of the second rank, and so 

The one stroke brought in old Krignock, the 

" Krignock ! " said the Gudra, " you have known 

l8 79 .J 



me for a very long time, — ever since I was born. 
Did you ever know me to fail in anything?" 

" Most noble sir," said Krignock, " I never 

'•There now!" cried the Gudra, turning to his 
wife. " Did you hear that. I never have failed in 
anything, and I don't intend to do it now." 

•' But how do you expect to manage this mat- 
ter?" asked his wife. 

" I don't know yet," said the Gudra. " But I il 
do it." 

The next day, the Gudra told his wife that he 
had decided to give his daughter her education 
among the ordinary men and women of the world: 
that their methods of learning must be better than 
those of the dwarfs, and that as Volma was now 
quite old enough to be a learned little princess, he 
should take her to the part of the world where 
ordinary people live, and have her immediately- 

"Am I to go?" asked his wife. 

" No," said the Gudra. " I do not wish any 
one to suppose that she has so small a mother. I 
will take Krignock, half a dozen servants, and the 
Curious One. That will be enough. We shall 
soon be back." 

" But will it not be dangerous," asked his wife, 
" to travel with the child 
and so few attendants ? " 

"Dangerous ! " roared the 
Gudra, indignantly, "am / 
not going ? " 

The next day they started. 
They went on foot, for the 
dwarfs have no horses. The 
Gudra and his daughter 
marched first, then came 
Krignock, then the attend- 
ants in single file, and at the 
rear of all walked the Curious 
One. This was a young fel- 
low, not quite three feet 
high, and dressed entirely in 
white. He had a small head, 
which was absolutely bald. 
He was a full-grown dwarf, 
but had never had any hair 
on his head. To add to his 
peculiar appearance, he wore 
a glass cap. This allowed 
the sun to shine on his head, 

to keep it warm, and, in time of storms, it pro- 
tected his pate from snow and rain. He was very 
proud of this cap, which was his own invention. 

The duty of the Curious One was to find out 
things, and tell them to the Gudra. He was excel- 
lent at this business, being of an investigating 

turn of mind, and very fond of telling what he 
knew ; and, on this account, the Gudra liked 
always to have him near at hand. He now walked 
last, so that he could see everything that the rest 
of the company might happen to do. 

Having marched for the greater part of a day, 
with frequent rests, the Gudra and his party drew 
near a large city. As they approached it, they 
saw, walking toward them, an Ordinary Man. 

"Ho, ho!" cried the Gudra, "here is one of 
them ! And now, Krignock, tell me, am I not 
larger and taller than this person, who, I suppose, 
is about as big as any of them ? " 

" Exalted sir," replied Krignock, " it seems to 
me — it really does seem to me — that you are 
rather taller, and somewhat stouter than this per 

" I thought so, myself," said the Gudra, drawing 
himself up. " Indeed, I supposed, before I saw 
any of them, that I was larger than the men of 
this place." 

The Ordinary Man now drew quite near, and 
was much amazed to see the company of dwarfs, 
who composed the train of the Gudra and his 
daughter. He stood still and looked at them. 

A happy idea came into the Gudra's head. 
" We shall want some one to guide us about the 


great city," said he to his head-councilor. "Let 
us engage this person, if he is acquainted with the 

The Ordinary Man, when Krignock proposed 
that he should become their guide, immediately 
consented. He was not rich, and was glad to get a 




job. He was also well acquainted with the city, 
having lived there all his life. The Gudra promised 
to pay him well. 

" In the first place," said the Ordinary Man, 
when these arrangements had been made, " a 
party of your rank should not walk into the city. 
It would not be considered dignified. It would be 
well if you would sit here and rest, while I go and 
bring animals for your proper conveyance." 

So the Gudra and his company sat down by the 
road-side, and the Ordinary Man returned to the 
city, where he went to one of his relatives, who 
kept a camel-stable, and hired a string of eleven 
camels. On these animals in single file, one person 
on each camel, the Gudra and the Ordinary Man 
leading, with the Curious One bringing up the 
rear, the party entered the town. As they slowly 
filed through the streets, a crowd of people collected 
and followed them. The Gudra was very proud 
when he saw the curiosity of the citizens. 

" I thought I should attract attention," he said 
to himself. 

It was generally supposed that this was a dwarf- 
show, in charge of the Gudra and the Ordinary 
Man ; and the little people on the camels were 
regarded with great interest, especially the Curious 
One, who was very conspicuous as he sat on the 
tallest camel, with his glass cap glistening in the 
sun. The party was conducted to one of the best 
inns, where all were sumptuously lodged. 

The next day, early in the morning, the Gudra 
summoned the guide, and told him his object in 
visiting the city. 

" I suppose there are teachers of eminence in 
this place." said he. 

" Oh yes, good sir ! " replied the other. " There 
are persons here who can teach anything from al- 
chemy to zoology. And there are also excellent 

" Which is the best school ? " asked the Gudra. 

" The very best? " said the other. 

" Yes, certainly," replied the Gudra sharply ; "of 
course I mean the very best." 

" Well, then," said the Ordinary Man, " the very 
best school is the one where the young prince, the 
only son of the reigning prince of the city, is edu- 
cated. In it are all our most learned professors, 
and there is a class for every branch of education. 
But the young prince is the only pupil in the school. 
He is the only one in each class, and all the apart- 
ments, and apparatus, and books, and all the pro- 
fessors and tutors are for him alone." 

"That is the very school I want," cried the 
Gudra. " It is just what I am looking for." 

" But it would be impossible for you to get your 
daughter into that school," said the Ordinary Man. 
"It was established solely for the young prince. 

and his father will allow no one else to enter it. 
Some of our highest grandees have asked that 
their children might be permitted to share the in- 
struction of the young prince, in this most admi- 
rable school, but they have always been denied the 

" That makes no difference," said the Gudra. 
" / have never asked. I shall do so instantly. I 
shall write a letter to the prince of the city, tell 
him who I am, and ask that my daughter be allowed 
to study in this school, where everything seems to 
be brought together in such a manner that an edu- 
cation can be obtained, by such a girl as she is, in 
a very short time." 

Without further ado, the Gudra wrote the letter, 
and the Ordinary Man was ordered to have it con- 
veyed to the prince. 

That same day the answer came. The prince 
positively refused to allow any child, with the excep- 
tion of his son, to enter his school. 

Now, indeed, was the Gudra angry. No one 
had ever seen him storm around a room as he now 
stormed. He vowed he would send to the king of 
his country, borrow an army, and carry his daughter 
into the prince's school at the point of the sword. 

" I am afraid," said the Ordinary Man, " that an 
army of dwarfs would have but a small chance 
against the soldiers of our prince. And he has 
plenty of them." 

The Gudra could not help thinking that there 
was sound sense in this remark, but that did not 
make him feel in any better humor. He called for 
his head-councilor. 

" Krignock ! " he cried, "did you ever know me 
to fail in anything? " 

"Never, most eminent sir," replied Krignock; 
" I never did, indeed." 

" Well, then," said the Gudra, striding up and 
down the floor, " I shall not fail now." 

Poor Volma was greatly terrified and troubled 
at all this, and begged her father to take her home. 
She would be perfectly satisfied, she said, to learn 
from her mother and the ordinary teachers of dwarf- 
land. But her father would listen to nothing of the 
kind. He stalked up and down the floor, still vow- 
ing he would succeed in what he had resolved to 
do, although he did not seem to have any idea how 
to go about it. 

Two or three days now passed, during which the 
Gudra fumed and strode about ; little Volma sat at 
the windows and looked out at the strange sights 
of the great city, and the Curious One went every- 
where, looking at everything, and coming back, in 
the evening, to tell his master what he had seen and 
heard. He heard a great deal — not very compli- 
mentary — about himself, and even that he told 
t'le Gudra. 




During one of his walks, he wandered into a 
suburb of the city. He wanted to see if anything 
in particular was going on there. Coming to a 
place where two roads began, one of which seemed 
about as interesting as the other, he was in great 
doubt as to which way he should go. He would 
not, upon any account, miss anything worth seeing 
by going the wrong way. While still unable to 
decide which road to take, he saw a person ap- 
proaching him who seemed to be a traveler. He 
was dusty and travel-worn. 

"Sir! " cried the Curious One, "can you tell 
me where these roads lead ? " 

" I am sorry to say that I cannot," replied the 
other ; " I am a stranger here ; I never saw the city 

" Indeed ! " cried the Curious One ; "where did 
you come from ? " 

" I came from the land of the giants," said the 

" The Giants ! " exclaimed the Curious One. 
" Why, what were you doing there ? Were you 
not afraid they would kill you ? " 

" Oh no ! " replied the other, smiling ; " they 
would not kill me. I am one of them." 

"You!" cried the Curious One. "You! 
Why you are no bigger than an ordinary man." 

" That is probably true," said the other, " I am 
a dwarf giant." 

The Curious One opened his eyes, as wide as 
they would go. He was too much astonished to 
say a word. 

" Yes," said the other, " my countrymen and my 
family are all giants. I am the only dwarf among 
them. I am so much smaller and weaker than 
any of them, that I can do none of the great things 
they do. And so, somewhat disheartened by my 
inferior position, I thought I would journey to this 
city, of which I have heard a great deal, in the 
hope that something would happen to raise my 

" Do you know ?" cried the Curious One, " this 
is the most wonderful thing ! My master, who 
lately came to visit the city, is a giant dwarf ! 
And he is just about your size ! " 

" That is rather remarkable," said the other. 
" A giant dwarf! I should like to see him." 

" You can do that easily enough," said the Curi- 
ous One. " Come with me, and I '11 take you to 
him. He has n't looked at many rare sights yet, 
and I know he will be glad to see you." 

The dwarf giant smiled, and consented to go with 
the Curious One; not so much, however, to please 
the Gudra, as to see for himself what a giant dwarf 
looked like. On the way to the inn the Curious 
One (who had lost all interest in the two roads, 
now that he had found something so well worth 

seeing and showing) told the dwarf giant why his 
master had come to the city, and what had hap- 
pened since his arrival. 

" Perhaps you can help him." 

" I doubt that very much," said the dwarf giant. 
"I am seldom successful in anything I undertake. 
But I am perfectly willing to try." 

When they arrived at the inn, the Gudra appeared 
glad to see the dwarf giant, and immediately 
poured into his ears the story of his troubles and 
the affronts to which he had been subjected, to 
which the other listened as silently and patiently 
as if he had not heard it all before. When the 
long recital was finished, the Ordinary Man was 
summoned, and a consultation between the three 
was begun. 

As little Volma sat and gazed at them, while 
they were talking together, she said to herself: 

"They look just like three brothers." 

The Gudra was in favor of carrying out his object 
by means of some kind of force. He proposed that 
he should challenge the prince to single combat, and 
thus decide the matter. The others opposed this, the 
dwarf giant saying, that, if he were in the Gudra's 
place, he would be afraid to undertake such a com- 
bat, for he had been told that the prince was a 
brave soldier and a good fighter. The Ordinary 
Man, also, thought the plan was a poor one. He 
proposed that they should all three goto the prince, 
and lay the matter before him, in person. It was 
often much better to do things in this way than to 
write letters. 

This proposition was agreed to, and the next 
day the three, accompanied by little Volma, pro- 
ceeded to the prince's palace. They were admitted, 
and the prince gave them an audience. They 
found him on his throne, in a magnificent and spa- 
cious hall ; and, as it happened to be a holiday, the 
little prince was sitting on a cushion by the side of 
his father's throne. 

The prince requested them to make known their 
business, and the Gudra, drawing himself up as 
tall as possible, began to state what he wanted, and 
how dissatisfied he was with the answer to his letter. 
During this speech, the little prince beckoned to 
Volma, and, moving to one side, made room for 
her on his cushion. So she sat down beside him, 
and they soon began to talk to each other, but in a 
very low tone. 

"You, then," said the prince, addressing the 
Gudra, when he had finished, " are a giant dwarf, 
and you," turning to his companions, " are a dwarf 
giant and an ordinary man ? " 

The three assented. 

" Well," continued the prince, with a smile, " I 
really do not see very much difference between you. 
I have heard the giant dwarf. Now, I would like 




to know what the dwarf giant and the ordinary man 
have to say." 

The dwarf giant said that, of course, the prince 
had a good right to say who should go to the 
school he had himself founded, and who should 
not go. But he thought it would be doing a very 
great favor to the Gudra, and especially to the 
Gudra's daughter, — who, in his eyes, was a very 
charming little girl, — if the prince would allow her 
to study with his son. He put the matter entirely 
on this ground. 

The Ordinary Man thought that, while the pro- 
posed arrangement would be of advantage to the 
little girl and the Gudra, it would also be of advan- 
tage to the prince, who, when his son was grown 
up, would probably be very glad to know that there 
was, in a country not a day's march away, a young 
lady of noble birth, who was also admirably edu- 

At this, the prince and the others turned and 
looked at Volma and the little prince, as they sat 
side by side. But the two children were now so 
busy talking that they did not notice this, nor had 
they heard a word that had been said. 

"Well," said the prince, " I will carefully con- 
sider what all of vou have said, and will send an 

one's HEAD. 

answer some time to-morrow." So saying, he dis- 
missed his visitors, first drawing little Volma 
toward him and taking a good, long look at her 
pretty and good-humored countenance. In every- 
thing but stature, Volma resembled her mother. 

After they had departed, — the Gudra a little dis- 
contented, for he had wanted his answer on the 
spot, — the prince proceeded to consider the propo- 
sition that had been made to him. He would not 
have taken more than a minute to make his decis- 
ion, had it not been that the dwarf giant was one 
of the party that asked the favor. He cared nothing 
for the Gudra and his dwarfs; but it would be a 
bad thing for him to be drawn into a quarrel with 
the giants, who would not take long to destroy his 
city, if they should happen to go to war with him. 
And, although this dwarf giant was very peaceful 
and reasonable in his remarks, there was no know- 
ing that the quarrelsome Gudra would not be able 
to prevail upon him to enlist his countrymen in his 

So the prince considered and considered, and the 
next morning he had not finished considering. He 
walked over to his son's great school-house, that he 
might consult some of the professors in the matter. 
While standing in one of the large lecture-rooms, 
the prince happened to spy a little creature, dressed 
in white and wearing a glass cap, who was creeping' 
about among the benches and desks. 

" Hello ! What is that ? " cried the prince, and 
he ordered his attendants to seize the creature. 
The Curious One was very nimble, but 
he was soon surrounded and caught. 
When the prince saw him, he laughed 
heartily, and asked him who he was 
and what he was doing there. The 
Curious One did not hesitate a mo- 
ment, but told the prince all about 
himself, and also informed him that he 
had visited the palace, and afterward 
the school, to try to hear something 
that would give him some idea of what 
the prince's decision would be in re- 
gard to his master's proposition, so- 
that he could run back and take the 
Gudra some early news. But, he was 
sorry to say, he had n't found out any- 
thing yet. 

" Then your business," said the 
prince, "is to hear and see all you 
can, and tell all you hear and see?" 

"That is it, Estimable Prince," re- 
plied the Curious One. 
-S_ "And to pry into other people's 

affairs ? " continued the prince. 
curious « J have t0 do thatj sometimes," 

returned the little fellow. 
"Well, you must not come prying here," said 
the prince, " and I shall punish you for doing so 
this time. I might send you to prison, but I will 
let you off with a slighter punishment than that." 
He then called to him the Professor of Motto- 

i8 7 9-] 



Painting, and ordered him to paint a suitable motto 
on the top of the Curious One's bald head. 

The Professor immediately took a little pot of 
black paint,and,with 
a fine brush, he 
quickly painted a 
mottoon the smooth, 
white pate of the 
Curious One. The 
glass cap was then 
replaced, and the 
motto, which was 
beautifully painted, 
was seen to show 
quite plainly through 
the top of the cap. 
All the professors 
gathered around to 
see the motto, and 
they, as well as the 
prince, laughed very 
heartily when they 
read it. 

The prince then 
called his son and 
told him to read the 

" You must under- 
stand," he said to 
him, "that this is 
not done to annoy, 
or to make fun of 
this little person. It 
is a punishment, and 
may do him more 
good than locking 
him up in a cell." 

The moment the 
Curious One was re- 
leased, he ran into 
the street, and asked the first person he met to 
please read the motto that was painted on his 
head, and tell him what it was. The man read 
it, and burst out laughing, but he would not tell 
him what the motto was. Many other people were 
asked, but some of them said there was nothing 
there, and others simply laughed and walked away. 

Devoured by his desire to know what the motto 
was. the Curious One ran to the inn, feeling sure 
that his friends would relieve his anxiety ; but they 
laughed, just as the others had done, and even 
little Volma told him there was nothing there. 
This he did not believe, for he had felt the paint 
on his skin, and so he went to his room and, hold- 
ing a looking-glass over his head, tried to read the 
motto. There was something there, — that he 
could see plainly enough, — but the words appeared, 



in the glass, not only to be written backward, but 
upside down, for the Professor had stood behind 
him when he painted them. So he had to give it 

in despair, and 
the rest of his 
stay in the city he 
wandered about, 
vainly trying to get 
some one to tell him 
what was written on 
his head. This was 
the only thing that 
he now wished to 
find out. 

" Why don't you 
wash it off if it gives 
you so much trou- 
ble ? " asked the Or- 
dinary Man. "A 
little oil would quick- 
ly remove it." 

"Wash it off!" 
cried the Curious 
One. " Then I 

should never know 
what it was ! I would 
not wash it off for the 

After the prince 
had consulted with 
the professors, he 
concluded, solely be- 
cause he was afraid of 
offending the giants, 
to agree to the Gud- 
ra's proposal. 

" It will not matter 
so very much," he 
said, "as he only 
wishes his daughter 
to attend the school for one week, it seems." 

The Ordinary Man was very much opposed to 
this plan of getting an education in a week. He 
thought it was too short a time, not only for Volma, 
but for himself, for he wished his engagement to 
last as long as possible. But the Gudra would not 
listen to any objections. His daughter had an ex- 
traordinary mind, and a week was long enough for 
her. He took her to the school, and desired each 
Professor to tell her, in turn, all about the branch 
of learning he taught, and thus get through with 
the matter without loss of time. Then, each day, 
while his daughter was in school, he and his party, 
in company with the dwarf giant, and under the 
guidance of the Ordinary Man, visited all the sights 
and wonders of the city. 

As for Volma, she did not study anything, as 




children generally study. She went from room to 
room, asking questions, listening to explanations, 
and paying the strictest attention to the manner in 
which the little prince studied and recited his les- 
sons. The professors did not pretend to tell her, 
as the Gudra had desired, all about their different 
branches. They knew that would be folly. But 
they gave her all the information they could, and 
were astonished to find that she had already learned 
so much from her mother. 

In exactly a week, the Gudra brought his visit to 
a close. He took leave of the prince, giving him 
a diamond, handsomer than any among his treas- 
ures ; he bade the dwarf giant good-bye ; and then, 
with his party mounted on the eleven camels, he 
rode away until he came to the mountains, where, 
paying the Ordinary Man twice as much as he had 
promised, he left him to return to the city with the 
animals, and proceeded, for the rest of the journey, 
on foot. 

" There now ! " he cried to his wife, when he 
had reached home. " Did not I tell you I never 
failed in anything? My daughter has been to the 
best school in the world, and her education is 

" My dear Volma," said her mother to her, when 
they were alone, '"'what did you learn in the great 
city ? " 

" Oh, mother dear ! " said Volma, " I learned 
ever so much. I learned, for one thing, that the 
largest dwarf is no bigger than the smallest giant, 

and that neither of them is larger than an ordinary 
man. And, at the school, I learned that it takes 
years and years to study properly all that I should 
know. And I have found out how the little prince 
studies, and how he recites, and I have a list of the 
books and parchments and other things that I need 
for my education. And now, d ear mother, we will 
get these things, and we will study them together 
here at home." 

This they did, and, gradually, little Volma be- 
came very well educated. Every year, the young 
prince came to see her, and, when she was about 
twenty years old, he married her, and took her 
away to the great city, of which he was now prince. 
Volma's mother used to make her long visits, but 
her father seldom came to see her. He liked to 
stay where he was bigger than anybody else. 

The dwarf giant went home in very good spirits. 
He had found out that a very small giant is as 
large as an ordinary man, and that satisfied him. 

As for the Curious One, as soon as he reached 
home, he gathered together a lot of small looking- 
glasses, and so arranged them that, by having one 
reflect into another, and that into another, and so 
on, he at last saw the reflection of the top of his 
head, with the words thereon, right side up, and in 
their proper order. And he read these words : 

" There is nothing here." 

" Now, what does that mean ? " he cried. " Did 
that Motto-Professor mean hair or brains?" 

He never found out. 

By Julia C. R. Dorr. 

[The incident occurred in our church one Sunday. I suspect the little creature ran away to church 

" unbeknownst " to her mother, for I saw her, after service was over, running down street, 

alone, as fast as her feet could carry her. — Extract from author's letter.] 

The church was dim, and silent 
With the hush before the prayer ; 

Only the solemn trembling 
Of the organ stirred the air. 

Slowly the door swung open, 

And a little baby girl, 
Brown-eyed, with brown hair falling 

In many a wavy curl, — 

Without, the sweet, still sunshine ; 

Within, the holy calm, 
Where priest and people waited 

For the swelling of the psalm. 

With soft cheeks flushing hotly, 
Shy glances downward thrown, 

And small hands clasped before her 
Stood in the aisle alone; 




Stood half abashed, half frightened, 
Unknowing where to go, 

While like a wind-rocked flower 
Her form swayed to and fro ; 

It was but for a moment, 

What wonder that we smiled, 

By such a strange, sweet picture 
From holy thoughts beguiled ? 

And the changing color fluttered 
In her troubled little face, 

As from side to side she wavered 
With a mute, imploring grace. 

Then up rose some one softly, 
And many an eye grew dim, 

As through the tender silence 
He bore the child with him. 

And I — I wondered (losing 

The sermon and the prayer) 
If, when, sometime, I enter 

The "many mansions" fair, 
And stand, abashed and drooping, 

In the portals' golden glow, 
Our God will send his angel 

To show me where to go ! 




i8 7 9-l 




By Treadwell Walden. 

ALMOST every one has heard of the famous bat- 
tles of Crecy and Poitiers, which were so much 
alike in all that made them remarkable that they 
are generally coupled together, — one always re- 
minding us of the other. Yet there is one point 
they had in common which has not been espe- 
cially remarked, but which ought to link them 
memorably together in the imagination of young 

These two great battles really took place ten 
years apart ; for one was fought in 1346 and the 
other in 1356. The battle-fields also were wide 
apart ; for Crecy was far in the north of France, 
near the coast of the English Channel, and Poitiers 
away in the south, deep in the interior, nearly 
three hundred miles from Crecy. But they have 
drawn near to each other in the mind of students 
of history, because in both cases the French largely 
outnumbered the English ; in both cases the Eng- 
lish had gone so far into the country that their 
retreat seemed to be cut off; in both cases there 
was a most surprising and unexpected result, for 
the French were terribly defeated; and in both 
cases this happened because they made the same 
mistake : they trusted so much to their overwhelm- 
ing numbers, to vheir courage and their valor, that 
they forgot to be careful about anything else, while 
the English made up for their small numbers by 
prudence, discipline, and skill, without which 
courage and valor are often of no avail. 

It is quite exciting to read the description of 
these battles, with their archery fights, the clash- 
ing together of furious knights, the first brave 
advance and the final running away; but, after a 
while, the battles at large seem to fade out in the 
greater interest which surrounds the figures of two 
youngsters, — one hardly more than fifteen, the 
other scarcely fourteen, — for one carried off all the 
honors of the victory of Crecy, and the other re- 
deemed from total dishonor the defeat of Poitiers. 
Let us now take up the romantic story of the 
English lad in the former battle, and of the 
French lad in the latter. 

When, in 1346, Edward III. of England had 
determined upon an invasion of France, he brought 
over his army in a fleet of nearly a thousand sail. 
He had with him not only the larger portion of his 
great nobles, but also his eldest son, Edward Plan- 
tagenet, the Prince of Wales. He had good 
reasons for taking the boy. The prince was ex- 
pected to become the next King of England. His 

Vol. VII.— 5. 

father evidently thought him able to take a very 
important part in becoming also the king of 
France. If all the accounts of him are true, he 
was a remarkable youth ; wonderfully strong and 
courageous, and wonderfully discreet for his years. 

There was only one road to success or fame in 
those days, and that was the profession of arms. 
The ambition of every high-born young fellow was 
to become a knight. Knighthood was something 
that both kings and nobles regarded as higher in 
some respects than even the royalty or nobility to 
which they were born. No one could be admitted 
into an order of the great brotherhood of knights, 
which extended all over Europe and formed an 
independent society, unless he had gone through 
severe discipline, and had performed some distin- 
guished deed of valor. Then he could wear the 
. golden spurs ; for knighthood had its earliest origin 
in the distinction of fighting on horseback, while 
ordinary soldiers fought on foot. Although knight- 
hood changed afterward, the word " chivalry " 
always expressed it, from cheval, a horse. And in 
addition to valor, which was the result of physical 
strength and courage, the knight was expected to 
be generous, courteous, faithful, devout, truthful, 
high-souled, high-principled. Hence the epithet, 
"chivalrous," which, even to-day, is so often heard 
applied to men of especially fine spirit. " Honor" 
was the great word which included all these quali- 
ties then, as it does in some measure now. 

I have only time to give you the standard, and 
cannot pause to tell you how well or ill it was lived 
up to generally. But I would not have taken this 
story in hand if Chivalry had to be left out of the 
account, for it was chivalry that made my two boys 
the heroes they were. 

As soon as King Edward had landed at La 
Hogue, he gave very clear evidence of the serious 
work he had cut out for his son, and of his confi- 
dence that the youngster would be equal to it. He 
publicly pledged his boy, beforehand, to some 
great deed, and to a life of valor and honor. In 
sight of the* whole army, he went through the 
form of making him a knight. Young Edward, 
clad in armor, kneeled down before him on the 
wet sand, when the king touched his shoulder with 
his sword, saying: " I dub thee knight. Be brave, 
bold, and loyal ! " You may imagine how proudly 
then the young fellow seized lance and sword and 
shield, and sprang into his saddle at a leap, and 
with what high resolve he rode on beside his 




mailed and gallant father to deserve the name 
which that impressive ceremony had given him. 

The army moved rapidly forward and northward 
toward Calais, conquering everything on its way, 
till, when in the neighborhood of Crecy, the intelli- 
gence came that the French king, Philip, with an 
army of one hundred and twenty thousand men 
and all the chivalry of France, had come in between 
it and the sea. There was no retreat possible. 
Edward had but thirty thousand to oppose this 
great host. They were four to one. He was in a 
dangerous spot also ; but after a time he succeeded 
in getting away to a good position, and there 
he awaited the onset. No one will doubt that he 
was anxious enough, and yet what did he do? 
After arranging his troops in battle order, three 
battalions deep, he sent young Edward to the very 
front with a brilliant group of his finest barons to 
take the brunt of the terrible charge that was now 
to come! It shows of what stern material the 
king and the men of that time were made, for all 
his present love, all his future hope, lay around 
that gallant boy. But he knew that the value of 
the glory which might be earned was worth all the 
risk. Besides, he was as much under chivalrous 
necessity to send him, as the lad was under to go. 
That pledge to knighthood, on the sea-shore, had 
not been either lightly taken or lightly given. If 
Chivalry was not equal to sacrifice, it was equal to 
nothing. There was keen wisdom, too, in the act. 
The king could count all the more on the enthu- 
siasm, self-devotion and valor of the knights and 
men-at-arms, in whose keeping he had placed so 
precious a charge. That whole first battalion would 
be nerved to tenfold effort because the prince was 
among them, for every one would be as deeply con- 
cerned as the father in the boy's success. 

Edward carried this feeling of devotion to his 
son's best interests to such a chivalrous extent that 
he made it a point of duty to keep out of the bat- 
tle altogether. He was nowhere to be seen. He 
went into a windmill on a height near by, and 
watched the fight through one of the narrow win- 
dows in its upper story. He would not even put 
on his helmet. That was the way the father stood 
by his son — by showing absolute confidence in him, 
and denying himself all the glory that might come 
from a great and important battle. And the young 
fellow was a thousandfold nerved and flrengthened 
by knowing that his father fully trusted in him. 

I need not give the details of the battle. It is 
sufficient to know that the first line of the French 
chivalry charged with the utmost fury. Among 
these was an ally of note. John, king of Bohemia, 
who with his barons and knights was not behind- 
hand in the deadly onset ; and yet this king was 
old and blind ! His was Chivalry in another form ! 

He would have his stroke in the battle, and he 
plunged into it with his horse tied by its reins to 
one of his knight's on either side. A plume of three 
ostrich feathers waved from his helmet, and the 
chroniclers say he laid about him well. After the 
battle, he and his two companions were found dead, 
with their horses tied together. 

But although the French were brave they were 
not wise. For not only had they brought on the 
fight with headlong energy before they were pre- 
pared; but they had allowed Edward to place him- 
self so that the afternoon sun, then near its setting, 
blazed full in their eyes and faces. Edward's army 
fought in the shadow. The terrible English bowmen 
sent their deadly cloth-yard arrows so thick and 
fast into the dazzled and crowded ranks of fifteen 
thousand Genoese archers and the intermingled 
men-at-arms, that the missiles filled the air like 
snow. The Genoese were thrown into confusion, 
and this spread throughout the whole French army. 
The French king, with some of his dukes, flew 
foaming over the field in the rear, trying in vain 
to get up in time to swell the onset upon the En- 
glish front. 

But the onset had proved hard enough as it was. 
The knights around the young prince were fright- 
ened for his safety. One of them, Sir Thomas of 
Norwich, was sent back to Edward to ask him to 
come to the assistance of the prince. 

" Sir Thomas," said the king, "is my son dead 
or unhorsed, or so wounded that he cannot help 
himself? " 

" Not so, my lord, thank God ; but he is fight- 
ing against great odds, and is like to have need of 
your help." 

"Sir Thomas, " replied the king, ' ' return to them 
who sent you, and tell them from me not to send 
for me, whatever chance befall them, so long as rny 
son is alive, and tell them that I bid them let the 
lad win his spurs ; for I wish, if God so desire, 
that the day should be his, and the honor thereof 
remain to him and to those to whom I have given 
him in charge." 

And there he stayed in the windmill till the bat- 
tle was over. Soon the cry of victory reached him 
as the French fled in the darkness, leaving their 
dead strewn upon the field. Now the young princp;/ 
appeared covered with all the glory that his father 
had coveted for him, bearing the ostrich plume 
which he had taken from the dead king of Bohemia. 
The boy rode up with his visor raised, — his face 
was as fair as a girl's, and glowed under a crown 
of golden hair. He bore his trophy aloft, and 
when it was placed as a knightly decoration above 
the crest of his helmet, he little thought that the 
triple tuft was to wave for more than five hundred 
years, even to this day, on England's front, for 



6 7 





such it does, and that, next to the crown, there 
shall be no badge so proudly known as the three 
feathers which nod above the coronet of the Prince 
of Wales. Albert Edward, son of Queen Victoria, 
now wears it because Edward, the Prince of Wales, 
when still in his teens, won it at Crecy. We will 
leave him there, and go on ten years. 

Philip, the French king, had passed away about 
six years before, and John, a wild character for such 
a trying time, had ascended the throne. He was 
always plunging himself into difficulties, and was 
often guilty of cruelty ; and yet was of such a free, 
generous nature, and had so many of the virtues 
of chivalry in that day, that he was known as "John 
the Good." He was the extreme opposite to the 
grave, prudent, sagacious Edward III., who was 
still alive and well, and king of England. 

Some time after the victory of Crecy, Calais had 
been taken, and then both nations were glad to 
arrange a truce. Nine years of this had gone by, 
when Edward thought it necessary to make another 
attempt on France. As soon as might be, there- 
fore, young Edward, his son, now twenty-five, 
came over alone, landing at Bordeaux. He had, 
meantime, gained great fame. He was now known 
as " the Black Prince," because he had a fancy for 
having his armor painted as black as midnight, in 
order, they say, to give a greater brightness to his 
fresh blond complexion and golden hair. Marshal- 
ing his little army of 12,000 men, he set out into 
the interior of France. When he had reached the 
neighborhood of Poitiers, he was astounded by the 
news that King John was both after him and behind 
him, with a force of 60,000 men — five to one ! Here 
was Crecy over again as to numbers, but there was 
one thing made it worse; for, as Edward III. not 
long before had instituted the famous "Order of the 
Garter," which is even now one of the foremost 
orders of knighthood in Europe, so John, not to be 
behindhand, and in order to give a new chivalrous 
impulse to his nobles, had just instituted the 
"Order of the Star." He made five hundred 
knights of this new order, every one of whom had 
vowed that he would never retreat, and would 
sooner be slain than yield to an enemy. 

The Black Prince thought it almost impossible 
to fight his way through such a desperately deter- 
mined host. So he offered to restore all he had just 
conquered and to make another truce, if he might 
pass by unmolested. But John would not consent. 
He must have Calais back again, and the prince, 
with one hundred of his best knights, into the bar- 
gain. "This will never do," thought the prince. 
"Better try for another Crecy." 

On the morning of September 19, 1356, the 
battle began. John had with him all four of his 
sons, Charles, Louis, John and Philip ; the eldest 

only nineteen, and the youngest fourteen. The 
three former were put under good guardianship in 
different portions of the field ; but why the hare- 
brained monarch took the youngest boy with him 
into the very front and thickest of the fight, it is 
hard to guess, unless it was another imitation of 
Edward, and he had also good reason to think that 
the lad was unusually well able to take care of him- 
self, having been trained to arms and pledged to 
knighthood. But young " Sir Philip," as he was 
called, proved quite equal to the occasion. 

King John himself led the van, moving down 
through a defile, into which, after a time, his whole 
army found themselves crowded. Meantime, the 
Prince of Wales had planted his army just where 
he would tempt John into that trap and had 
set his archers in good position. These men were 
clad in green, like Robin Hood's men, and carried 
bows seven feet long and so thick that few men of 
modern days could bend them. A cloth-yard shaft 
from one of these would fly with tremendous force. 
Edward had placed these archers in ambush, be- 
hind green hedges, and crouching in the green of 
the vineyards. 

Just as the French king, with all his new chivalry 
around him, dashed down the narrow valley — the 
white standard of France on one side of him, his 
keen-eyed little son on the other — and began to 
deploy the whole advance battalion, preliminary to 
a grand charge — whiz ! whiz ! whir ! whir ! from 
both sides came the arrows, as thick as hail and as 
terrible as javelins, from the hidden archers. The 
astonished Frenchmen fell back. That crowded 
still more those who were yet wedged in the narrow 
space behind. Now came, the English onset. Then 
a panic. Then a rout. Then a general flight. 
Dukes, barons, knights of all sorts fled with the 
rest ; also Charles, Louis, John, the three elder sons 
of the king. The king was in great danger of be- 
ing slain ; but he did not move, and Philip stood, 
fighting by his side. The standard-bearer fell, and 
the white ensign lay in the dust. Many a faithful 
knight was cut down, or swept away a prisoner. 
But Philip flinched not. 

The assailants — some of whom knew the king, 
while others were wondering who he might be — 
pressed them fiercely on every side, striking at 
them, but more anxious to take them captive than 
to kill them, for they were worth a heavy ransom. 
The Englishmen shouted all together, " Yield you ! 
Yield you, else you die ! " Little Sir Philip had no 
yield in him, as long as his father held out. He 
kept close to him, trying to ward off the blows which 
were aimed at him, and warning him in time, as 
his quick eye caught a near danger on either hand. 
Every instant he was heard calling out, " Father, 
ware right ! Father, ware left ! " Suddenly a 

■8 79 .] 


6 9 

mounted knight appeared, who hailed the king in 
French. It was a French knight, who was fighting 
on the English side. 

" Sir. sir ! " he shouted, " I pray you yield ! " 

"To whom shall I yield me?" said John. 
" Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales ? " 

" Sir, yield you to me ; I will bring you to him." 

" Who are you ?" said the king. 

" Dennis de Morbecque, a knight of Artois ; I 
serve the king of England, not being able to live in 
trance, for I have lost all I possessed there." 

" 1 yield me to you," said John, handing him 
his steel glove. 

Then the whole crowd began to drag at him, 
each exclaiming: " I took him !" Both the king 
and the prince were sadly hustled, until two barons 
broke through the throng by dint of their horses, 
and led the two to the tent of the Prince of Wales, 
"and made him a present of the King of France ! " 
says an old chronicler. "The prince also bowed 
full low before the king, and received him as a 
king, properly and discreetly, as he well knew how 
to do." 

In the evening he entertained him and Philip at 
supper, " and would not sit at the king's table for all 
the king's entreaty, but waited as a serving man, 
bending the knee before him, and saying: 'Dear 
sir, be pleased not to put on so bad a countenance, 
because it hath not pleased God to consent this day 
to your wishes; for, assuredly, my lord and father 
will show you all the honor and friendship he shall 

be able, and he will come to terms with you so 
reasonably that you shall remain good friends for- 
ever.' " 

Nor did all this end in words, but it went on 
for years during all the captivity of King John and 
Prince Philip, — first at Bordeaux and afterward 
at the then new Windsor Castle, in England, where 
galas, tournaments, hawking and hunting, and all 
sorts of entertainments were devised for them. 
When King John was brought from Bordeaux to 
England, where King Edward had prepared to 
meet him in great state, the French king was 
mounted on a tall, cream-colored charger, and 
young Philip rode by his side in great honor also, 
while the Prince of Wales sat on a small black 
horse, like a humble attendant on them both. 
The two royal fathers met midway in that London 
street, the houses which lined the way were hung 
with rich tapestries, the trades were out in com- 
panies of many colors, the people thronged round 
the steel-clad cavalcades as they came together, 
and they filled the air with shouts — but what two 
figures now most fill the eye when all that pageant 
has passed away ? Not the father who stood by 
his son with such chivalrous faith, nor the father 
whose son stood by him with such chivalrous devo- 
tion, but the fair youth who carries that tuft of 
feathers upon his helmet, with its motto, " I serve," 
and the lad whom all have now heard of as "Philip 
the Bold ; " the boy-hero of Crecy doing chivalrous 
honor to the boy-hero of Poitiers ! 

By Mary N. Prescott. 

Sometimes there 's a flock of sheep 
Traveling landward, where the grass 

Grows so green and fresh and deep, 
They might crop it as they pass. 

Now a castle rises there, 

Broken casements, turrets rent ; 
Here a bit of crazy stair, 

Or a ruined battlement. 

Sometimes there 's a school of fish, 
Slowly swimming out to sea, 

Perch or mackerel, as you wish, 
Scales as bright as scales can be. 

And anon, a mountain peak 
Shines beneath eternal snows, 

Where the venturous might seek 
For the little Alpine rose. 

Or, perchance, a face looks out, 
Like a seraph's, faint and far, 

Just to see what we 're about, 
In this distant star ! 





By Eliza Howe. 

These pretty things are to be made by the 
hands of skillful girls, not bought out of shops. 
Most girls begin to knit, or crochet, when they are 
eight or nine years old ; and, at ten years of age, 


are sufficiently expert to follow printed directions, 
plainly expressed. In this way their minds and 
fingers become educated in designing and making 
a variety of simple articles, and they are prepared, 
when a little older, to learn the higher branches of 
fancy work, — what we call " artistic needlework." 

These little things that you girls like to take off 
to an obscure corner, or to your own rooms, to do 
privately, that you may surprise the friend for 
whom they are intended, often afford more satis- 
faction to giver and receiver than more 
costly gifts, not fashioned by your own 
hands. Perhaps I can suggest some 
pretty presents that will be new to you. 

How would you like to make a pair 
of mittens for your baby brother, or 
sister ? Baby will be proud of them, 
and Mamma will be pleased by your 
loving thought, and then, too, she can- 
not buy such pretty ones as cheaply as 
you can make them. If you have no 
baby at home, there must be some dear 
little one among your friends, who is 
your own particular darling, and whose 
hands you will be glad to keep warm 
during the wintry weather. 

To Crochet Baby Mittens. 

For these you will need a bone crochet-needle 
five inches long, with a hook a quarter of an inch 
long, and about a sixth of an inch wide ; also three 

skeins of yarn, which will probably cost six or seven 

cents a skein. 

First make a chain as for any other crochet work. 

It should have thirty-eight loops or stitches. 

With the needle in the 
thirty-eighth stitch, unite 
the two ends, taking care 
not to twist the chain. You 
have now a circle of loops 
or stitches. Begin with the 
stitch nearest the yarn. Put 
the needle under the stitch, 
as at A in the sketch, and 
bring the yarn round tinder 
the hook of the needle ; 
then draw the yarn through 
the stitches A and B. This 
will drop A and B off the 
needle, but you have a new 
stitch in the place of B. 

Take up the next loop of the chain ; this will take the 

place of A again, and you put the yarn under 

the hook, as before, and draw it through the two 

stitches, dropping them, and again forming a new 


Thus proceed till you have gone once round the 

chain. Your work will now look like a simple circle 

of stitches. 

Continue to knit each one of these as directed 

above, being careful to take up that side of the stitch 


which lies toward you. In the sketch this circle of 
stitches is shown around the edge of the work. Put 
the hook of your needle under that side of each stitch 
nearest you, as at X Y Z. Our artist has made the 
stitches on the needle very loose, that we may see 





them well ; but in the work we make them only 
loose enough to be easily crocheted. 

In order to give the hand of the mitten the proper 
shape, the following directions should be observed : 

After crocheting once round the work, you must 
widen. This is done by making two stitches in the 
same loop ; that is, you take up a loop and knit it 
as above, then, instead of going to the next one, 
you take up the same loop 
and knit it again, thus mak- 
ing two stitches in the place 
of one. This widens once. 
Then crochet round, taking 
care at this place to knit 
each of these two stitches, 
and pass on. On coming 
round the second time, you 
widen again on each side of 
this first place of widening — 
thus making two stitches 
between these last new ones. 
Crochet round plain again, 
knitting both stitches at the 
two widening places. 

When you come round again, widen twice more, 
on the outside of the former widening, or with six 
stitches between the last two pairs of new ones. Con- 
tinue to widen two stitches every other time round, 
till you have fifty-seven stitches round your mitten, 
having started with thirty-eight. Now crochet to the 
first of your two widening places; 
then make a chain of three 
stitches. Count fourteen stitches 
on your mitten, beginning at the 
point where you began your 
chain ; take up the fifteenth stitch 
with your needle, and knit it fast 
to your last chain-stitch. This 
■forms the base of the thumb. 

Crochet once round and over 
the chain ; then the second time 
narrow twice on each end of the 
chain. (To narrow, take up two 
loops and knit them as if they 
were but one.) The third round, 
narrow in the same way. You 
should now have but forty-two 
stitches round the mitten. Con- 
tinue to crochet round and round, 
without widening or narrowing, 
till from the chain across the 
thumb, you have crocheted twenty 

Then crochet fourteen stitches 
and narrow ; fourteen more and narrow again ; and 
so on three times. Then crochet thirteen stitches 
and narrow ; thirteen more and narrow ; and so on 

three times. So with twelve, eleven, ten, etc., till 
you get down to six ; then narrow every third 
stitch, till but three or four are left, when you nar- 
row every stitch, breaking your yarn eight or ten 
inches from the mitten, and drawing it through 
the last stitch, that it may not ravel. 

When your mitten is done, you must darn this 
end neatly into it. 

You should now make the thumb for your mit- 
ten, and to do this you must proceed as follows : 

Tie the yarn in the corner of the thumb-hole. 
Take up and crochet the first of the fourteen stitches 
and so on to the last one. The stitches now, of the 
chain crossing the thumb, will not be very distinct, 
so take a deep stitch in the mitten itself, crochet it, 
and make another in the same way, and so round to 
the plain stitches again. Be sure and take these first 
stitches deep enough, or your work will not wear well. 

Crochet round once, then narrow two or three 
times (on the side toward the hand), or till your 
thumb numbers eighteen stitches. Go on crochet- 
ing round and round till the thumb is sufficiently 
long — say ten rounds — then narrow every third 
stitch, till but three or four are left, when you finish 
the same as with the hand. 

The hand and the thumb having been finished, 
there is nothing more to be done but to furnish 
the mitten with a suitable cuff. 

There are various ways of making the cuff. One 
of the easiest and prettiest is to reverse the mitten, 


and make a 

row of shells 

round the 

wrist, taking 

the stitches half an inch deep. Four stitches 

in each shell, and seven shells round the mitten. 

Then from the middle of each of these shells, 

make another row, four stitches in each shell, 

and from these, still a third row. The fourth 

row should be made with six stitches instead of 

four, turning the needle and crocheting up to 

the wrist and back again, after making each 

shell. This forms a pretty scallop. 

When the seventh scallop is made, crochet to the 
wrist and back ; break the yarn (as at the end of 

7 2 



the thumb and of the hand) and 
fasten securely, and your mit- 
ten is done. 

If you wish variety, you can 
make the first three rows of 
shells of some different color 
from the mitten (as pink or blue, 
when the mitten is white ; or 
chinchilla, when the mitten is 
scarlet). It is a prettier finish 
to make the last row that forms 
the scallop, of the same color as 
the mitten. 

The above directions give the 
size of crocheted mittens for a 
child of three years. But you 
can make them larger or smaller 
by following the scale here 
given, and looking at the dia- 
gram. The third row of figures 
in the scale you see is the same 
as the diagram. 

Scale of Stitches for Crocheting 

Wrist 30 35 38 42 43 45 47 

Base of Thumb. 45 52 57 63 64 66 70 

Left for Thumb . 14 14 14 16 18 18 20 

Hands 33 38 42 46 50 50 52 

Thumb 15 17 18 20 20 21 21 

A very pretty specimen of 
crochet work has lately been 
sent me by Hannah Sheppard, 
of Salem, New Jersey, and it is 
so simple that I have obtained 
directions from her for the St. 
Nicholas girls. She calls it — 

Home-made Feather-Edged 

It is intended for the heading 
or "beading" of any crocheted 
edging. You first make this 
heading, and then crochet on it an edge of shells, 
or any pattern you may fancy. It will also make 
pretty and durable trimming, in itself (without an 
edge) to be "set on," — two or three rows on a 
little apron, for instance. 

The materials needed are — a long, thick hair- 
pin, a fine steel crochet-needle, and a spool of No. 
8 white cotton. 

Hold the hair-pin between thumb and finger, as 
shown in Fig. I. Tie the end of your cotton 
round the left point of the hair-pin ; then make one 
or two chain-stitches, and pass your thread over 
and under the right point of the hair-pin (see Fig. 
2). Draw the thread through the loop ; now put 

your needle through the 
" tie " on the left point, and 
draw the thread through. 
Now you have two loops 
upon your needle : draw the 
thread through both. 

Leave the loop pretty long 
(as shown in Fig. 2), take 
out your needle, turn the 
hair-pin over from right to 
left ; draw the thread over 
and under the right point of 
the pin (as before) ; draw the thread through the 
loop ; then put your needle into the upper loop 
around the hair-pin on the left side (see Fig. 3). 
You now have two stitches on your needle; draw the 
thread through both ; turn your hair-pin again (as 
always) over, from right to left, and proceed as be- 
fore. The pins and stitches are sketched large 
and spread, the better to show the detail. 

When you have your pin as full as that shown in 
Fig. I, push downward the work already done, and 
draw off a few stitches from the lower end without 
stretching them. 

Fig. 4 shows the work just before you turn the 
pin over, and Fig. 5 the pin just turned. Fig. 6 




illustrates a simple design for an edging. For this 
edge, No. 24 cotton should be used. 

While reading these directions, they may seem 
difficult to you ; but, if you get your materials and 
try, following the directions exactly, you will find 
the work easy. 

And now I will turn to other materials with 
which you are, no doubt, quite as familiar as with 
crochet needles, yarn and cotton, and tell 
you how to make a very fanciful little affair 
out of perforated card-board. 

Perforated-Board Balloon. 

The card-board should be fine, about 
fourteen inches long, and four and a half 
inches wide. (If you use coarse card-board 
it must be proportionately larger.) Mark a 
line of holes down the middle. Divide this 
into 20 parts of 10 holes each, and draw 
lines across the central ones. On these 
mark off the distances of the curved line 
from the center, by counting the number 
of holes given in the diagram. (The dimen- 
sion " l /z " means a point half way between 
two holes. ) 

Now draw the curved lines, following the 
points as above marked off, either free-hand 
or by bending a piece of whalebone, or the 
old rib of a used-up umbrella. Cut the 
figure out neatly, and use it for a pattern with 
which to mark out six pieces, saving the original 
for future use. 

An easy way to count the holes is to take the 


Sew your six pieces of card-board together with 
worsted, and you will have a six-sided balloon, 
eight inches in diameter, and about ten inches 
high. But, before putting the sides together, it 
will make your balloon much more handsome if 
you work on them, with variously colored worsteds, 
some ornamental designs, as suggested in the illus- 

And now you must have a car for your balloon ; 


blank strip that is usually on the side of a sheet 
of perforated board, and mark off the tens on it ; 
then you can use this marked piece as a scale. 

and you will see that the one attached to this 
balloon is made like a six-sided card-receiver. The 
bottom is three inches wide. Suspend this to the 
balloon by cords as here shown, and add balls, 
beads, dr tassels for ornament. A cord on top 
of the balloon will attach it to the chandelier or 
to the ceiling. 

Your grown-up brother, or cousin, or friend can 
make for you, or for his own pleasure, 

A Tissue-Paper Fire-Balloon, 

by taking the same dimensions, and multiplying 
them any number of times, remembering that he 
must allow a quarter of an inch for pasting. It 
would be better for him first to cut a pattern out of 
brown paper. The gores should be larger toward 
the bottom, according to the outside dotted lines 
and figures. The opening will require a circular 
wire (as light as will keep the snape) with two 
cross-pieces, at the intersection of which secure a 
sponge, dipped in alcohol. This is intended to 
burn, but do not set anything else onfi7-e. A little 
strip of folded tissue-paper pasted on the top of the 
balloon will enable it to be held until it is inflated. 
Be careful, at first, not to let the sides flap against 
the blaze. When it is swelled out to its full dimen- 
sions,- let go, and the balloon will slowly rise up. 




Now I will give you an idea about making 

Rosette Tidies, or Mats. 
Cut circular pieces of about four inches in diam- 
eter out of silk, or merino. You can mark them 
out with the top of a tea-cup, or small bowl, using 
a pencil or tailor's chalk. Suppose you cut between 
ninety and a hundred of these. You can tell when 
you put them together whether you will need more 
or less. Now fold down the edge of each of these 
pieces, making a narrow fold, as shown in Fig. I ; 
and run a thread of silk through this, as in Fig. 2. 
Draw this thread until the circle is nearly closed ; 
fasten your thread securely ; and flatten out smooth- 
ly the puff you will then have, and you will form a 
rosette, like Fig. 3, with a small hole where it is 
gathered. Be careful to make this hole come ex- 
actly in the center. When you have a sufficient 
number of rosettes, arrange them in some pretty 
shape, — a hexagon, like the illustration of the com- 
pleted tidy ; or a diamond, or any figure you may 
fancy. Sew the rosettes together at the points of 

contact, and sew them on the plain side, that 
the stitches may not be visible on the right side. 
The diagram shows how the rosettes are to be put 

The size and number of circles given above 
makes quite a large tidy. For table-mats you can 
make much smaller rosettes, and fewer in number. 
A good deal of ingenuity may be displayed in 
forming pretty designs for these mats and tidies. 

Silk, or merino, makes the handsomest articles; 
but very pretty ones can be made of fine sun- 
bleached shirting and Turkey red combined. 
Your rosettes may be all of one shade, or of dif- 
ferent shades of the same color blended together, 
or of different colors. In fact, the St. Nicholas 
girls can make these mats an education in color, 
for much of their beauty depends upon harmony 
of hues. 

Any one of these things will be a pretty Christ- 
mas present (except the fire-balloon, which is a 
summer toy), and they are easily made, and cost 
but little money. 

Bv Anna Eichberg. 

Imagine, children, that a little bird had seen all 
this — a little bird rocking itself high up in the top 
branch of a linden-tree ; or, perhaps, a nightingale 
trilling gloriously in the pleasant solitude of a rose- 
bush — for they have nightingales in Germany — but 
I forgot ! The dear old Saint comes in the middle 
of November when all the merry company of birds 
has fled and only a few withered leaves remain cling- 
ing to the branches. 

So, then, dear children, suppose it was a clear, 
bright star which shone down on St. Martin's Eve, 
and told all it saw. The stars have been over the 
world so long, that our own dear star has seen the 
grandfathers of the grandfathers of the great-grand- 
fathers of every child — yes, and great-grandfathers 
even farther back than that, — listening with beating 
heart to the heavy steps of the Saint coming up- 
stairs, and then knocking solemnly against the sit- 
ting-room door. 

Saint Martin and Santa Claus live near together, 
which is very pleasant for them, for they can talk 
together of the little people they love, and what 
they would like to give them. It is hard for Santa 
Claus to turn his face away even from a naughty 
child and go off with all his treasures on his back ; 

but Saint Martin always leaves something, if it is 
only a bunch of switches for a luckless youngster 
whom you can't help but pity as he is sent supper- 
less to bed. 

Santa Claus hurries from one end of the earth to 
the other at all the world's call if it only wants him ; 
but the bright star that saw Saint Martin, always 
twinkled down on the river Rhine, in Germany, 
especially on an old town called Diisseldorf. 

You 've heard of the beautiful Rhine ? The river 
with the high hills on either side ; with vineyards 
covering them from base to summit, and perched 
upon the highest peaks the ruins of stone-built 
castles where beautiful ladies and gallant cavaliers 
once lived. 

It is pleasant to think of them looking down on the 
flowing river below from the tops of queer turrets, or 
out of narrow, deep-set slits of windows. Why, on 
one of the hills a dragon lived who ravaged the whole 
country round till a brave knight came and killed 
him and then married the beautiful lady whom the 
dragon had stolen from her home. Surely you have 
heard of the Loreley, who combed her golden hair 
with a golden comb, while she sang a magic song? 
But I shall forget Saint Martin if I say more. 

.8 7 9- J 



Imagine, children, then, that wonderful country 
where Saint Martin and Santa Claus live next door 
to each other, where, it is said, the toys grow on 
trees, — think of a doll-tree and a rocking-horse 
tree ! — and the cakes and candies on bushes, so 
that you can pick off anything you like. On the 
eleventh of November, after tea, Santa Claus 
strolled into Saint Martin's garden to see how his 
neighbor was getting ready for his journey : wished 
him God-speed, and many good children to serve, 
and helped him mount his patient donkey with the 
huge, heavy baskets at its sides filled with deli- 
cious things not to be seen just yet. Saint Martin 
flung a few switches over his shoulder, — after all 
there are not many bad children, — and with his 
round, rosy face and kind eyes glowing with 
pleasure he started off. The dear old man is so 
glad to shut his eyes to all naughtiness that, if a 
bad child, at the last moment, begs pardon of his 
parents, I think Saint Martin always finds a good 
excuse to call. Of course it never snows nor rains 
when he comes, for he would not have his chil- 
dren's pleasure spoiled for all the world, and so he 
and his donkey — a nice, cheerful donkey, but 
rather short in the legs, so that Saint Martin's san- 
daled feet touch the ground — reached the old town 
of Diisseldorf with its narrow street and the gabled, 
red-roofed houses where all the children, great and 
small, were ready to greet him royally. 

You understand, now, the advantage of being a 
star and seeing everything ? The queer, old town 
was brilliant with light ; in every window shone a 
lamp, and the streets were crowded with children 
all hurrying to the market-place, where stood 
the statue of an old Prince John riding a superb 
bronze horse. Who knows, when this old John 
was a child perhaps his heart also beat fast when 
the beautiful princess, his mother, told him to be 
good, for Saint Martin was coming? If the bronze 
prince could have looked down, how he 'd have 
winked at the sudden light which came pouring into 
the great, square market-place from every alley and 
street. Every child in the whole town had come, 
and each carried a torch or a lantern, — Chinese 
lanterns, glass lanterns, or hollowed-out pumpkins 
with candles burning inside. How they laughed, — 
the children ! why, there was not one so poor or so 
small that it had not a twinkling light to swing in 
the air while walking in the long procession which 
formed here in the market-place. In and out of the 
crooked streets they filed, swinging their lanterns 
and singing an old hymn to Saint Martin, while, 
at the end of the long line, the babies were carried, 
and even they clutched gorgeous lanterns with dim- 
pled hands, and sang, too, they did. I wish you could 
have heard them. How sweet and clear were the 
young voices, rising into the night ; not that it was a 

very wonderful hymn, but it was loved for the sake 
of old memories, for parents and grand-parents 
leaning out of the windows remembered that they, 
too, had sung the melody. So it begins : 

As for Saint Martin, he and his donkey remained 
modestly hidden ; he watched the little people filing 
all over the town with torches and lanterns, and he 
rejoiced when he heard the hymn, listening fondly 
till the clear voices became fainter and fainter and the 
little feet were beginning to be very tired. At last 
the children wanted to go home and see Saint Mar- 
tin in real earnest. It was time, for the babies at the 
end of the procession were doubled up, fast asleep, 
and even the red and yellow lanterns could not keep 
them awake. So, in the twinkling of an eye, the 
streets were deserted, — not a child remained. Now 
was the time for Saint Martin to start on the most 
important part of his mission. He patted the don- 
key gently on the neck, and went to every house 
where he was called. 

How the little folk hurry up to the sitting-rooms, 
dark but for the lanterns brought out of the street ! 
The Saint likes to speak to each child alone, and 
so everybody else is hustled into a side room. 

Put the lantern, -with the candle still burning, in 
the middle of the floor ; jump over it three times ; 
call : " Saint Martin I Saint Martin ! Saint Mar- 
tin /" as bravely and loudly as you can. 

Sure enough there comes a knock at the door. 
"Come in, Saint Martin !" some one says, with a 
beating heart. The saint opens the door a crack, 
and asks, in a solemn voice : 

" Have you been a good child this whole year?" 

As for concealment, it is of no use, for Saint 
Martin knows everything; so you might as well 
say, if it is the case, that you have been a bad 
child, for he has a respect even for naughty chil- 
dren who tell the truth. 

"I 've been a bad child!" sobs a little voice; 
and if it is true, the saint flings a bunch of 
switches into the room, and stumps sadly down the 
dark stairs. 

If, however, the little voice falters : " I 've tried 
to be a good child," then, oh, children ! I wish 
you could be there once to see how Saint Martin 
rewards a child who has tried to be good. The 
door is thrown open, — though the saint keeps in 
the dark, — and in come, tumbling and rushing 
out of his enchanted bag, huge roasted chestnuts, 
bursting with pride and haste, — boiled chestnuts 
filled, as it were, with delicious cream ; rosy apples, 
which come bumping in on their plump cheeks; 
nuts, raisins, figs, dates, oranges, walnuts, — nearly 
fresh from the tree, — filberts, cakes of every kind 

7 6 



and shape, everything lhat the heart can wish ; 
but, best of all, a word of praise from Saint Martin, 
who runs quite briskly down-stairs in his joy at 
having found a good child. The moment he is 
gone, a blaze of light bursts in from the next room, 
then in come father and mother and sisters and 

Once I knew a little boy who was so curious to 
see Saint Martin's donkey, and to learn whether or 
not the old man meant to go over the way to see 
his playmate, Elsbeth, that he ran after him down 
the dark stairs, when he stumbled and fell, and 
might have hurt himself badly if two strong arms 


brothers, and the way they help to pick up Saint 
Martin's treasures is really splendid. Even this is 
not the end of the holy man's visits. He has been 
known to come back at supper-time, when some 
one is sitting by the mother's side, with two chubby 
arms hugging a huge dish of goodies. The door 
is flung open, and Saint Martin, wonderfully 
wrapped in a great cloak, while a broad-brimmed 
hat is pulled over his face, makes a low bow, as if 
begging pardon for coming so often, walks solemn- 
ly up to each, and leaves a mysterious package at 
every plate. He says little or nothing as he walks 
slowly about the table; but, goodness only knows, 
nobody wants words ; they want actions, and Saint 
Martin's are superbly generous. So, amid startled 
silence, he reaches the door and vanishes. 

had not caught him in time : but these arms did 
not belong to Saint Martin at all. 

" Oh, Uncle ! Uncle ! did you see Saint Mar- 
tin ? " a breathless voice cried. 

" Ah, what if I met him on the street just as he 
crossed over to Elsbeth ! " Uncle said, solemnly, 
but with a twinkle in his pleasant, brown eyes. 

" I am so glad," the small inquisitor said, draw- 
ing a sigh of relief ; then looking up, wonderingly, 
as the strong arms let him down on the ground : 
" Uncle, what 's the matter with your hair? it 's 
all rumpled ; " at which Uncle blushed unneces- 
sarily. Then, without waiting for an answer : 
" Uncle, do you know Saint Martin's voice is just 
like yours?" 

"Ah, dear child, there are so many curious 




things in the world, and old people's voices often 
sound alike," Uncle begins to explain, a bit con- 
fused, while Saint Martin, over the way, has prob- 
ably come and gone. 

The bell in the church-tower, by the market- 
place, struck twelve ; the city was still ; the happy 
children were asleep, and the lanterns were all burnt 
out. Saint Martin, on his donkey, trudging home- 
ward, was all alone with the bright star. His two 
bags were quite empty, though he still carried the 
switches over his shoulder. The good donkey 
stepped briskly along, for he was going home and 
his load was so light. 

To the star looking down, the saint seemed a lit- 
tle sad, as if it made him unhappy to part from 
his little people. However, he smiled as he saw 
the bright star. 

"Come back, dear Saint Martin; come back 
next November, and the children and I will be 
ready for you," it seemed to say, and the dear old 
man patted the donkey encouragingly on the back, 
and so they reached their home in the wonderful 
land where the toy-trees grow. Santa Claus stood 
by the garden-gate under a sugar-plum-tree with 
chocolate blossoms, waiting for him. 

" Glad to see you back, St. Martin ! How are 
all the children?" 

"Growing better every year!" he cried, joy- 
ously, as he dismounted from the donkey. " See," 
he said, quite excitedly, going toward Santa Clans, 
"I've brought all the switches back. Now it is 
your turn; but do you think," he said, anxiously, 
" but do you think there '11 be toys enough on the 
trees for all the good children in the world?" 

" Don't worry," Santa Claus said, kindly. " Lit- 
tle things trouble you. If there were twenty mill- 
ion more children in the world than there are, and 
not a bad one among 'em, there 'd be presents 
enough and to spare. I am glad you found the 
children so good, though you must be tired going 
up all those stairs. I find the chimneys a great 
convenience. Indeed," Santa Claus said, rather 
thoughtfully, " I don't think I could do the whole 
world alone if I had to climb so many stairs." 

" But you don't," Saint Martin suggested. 

" That 's true," and Santa Claus laughed. Per- 
haps, children, you never heard Santa Claus laugh? 
Keep your ears wide open this Christmas, for it is 
the jolliest, merriest sound in the world. 

So they bade each other good-night and parted. 


Kit Strong sat on the door-step, looking very sad. A Great Show 
had come to town only the day before, and had set up its big white tent 
on the common, almost in sight of his home. Yet Kit could not go to 
it. He had no money, and his mother was very poor. 

He always sat on the door-step when he was in trouble. It was 
shady and cool, for the little house stood back from the street, and on 
one side a high brick wall reached all the way from the house to the 
sidewalk, and on the other a little tree shook its leaves whenever there 
was a breeze. So Kit liked the step, and would often sit there for ten 
whole minutes, which was a long time for him, as he was a very lively 

But this morning he stayed, five, ten, — yes, twenty minutes, at least ! 
There he sat, and thought and thought and thought. He had been 
around to the common, and the bill posters he had seen there, and the 
queer sounds that came out of the tent, had made him sure that the tent 




held such wonders as he had never seen in all his life. But how to get 
in — that was what troubled Kit. I suppose there is no way in the world 
for a boy to get to see a show, that Kit did not think of. But sitting 
there, with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, if he had 

been a girl, you might have 
thought she was crying. In- 
deed, the only move he made 
looked very much like brush- 
ing away a tea — ; but then 
Kit was a boy, and the other 
thing must have been a fly. 
Still, Kit seemed very, very 
sad for a lively boy. He 
would n't look up at all. The 
whole show — except the brass 
band — might have passed 
along the street in front of 
him, and he would never have 
known it. And, strange to 
tell, when he did look up at 
last, there it was ! — or if not 
the show, certainly a part 
of it. 

For there, in the open 
street, was a queer proces- 
sion : a big white woolly dog 
and a little black monkey 
were walking along together, 
followed by a troop of boys, 
and, stranger still, the mon- 
key wore a little coat and a 
hat with a feather, and he car- 
ried a trumpet and a pair of 
light hoops, while the dog had a small stool in his mouth. And, 
strangest of all, the monkey, dog and boys were all coming right into 
Kit's open gate, and then — could anything be stranger? — the monkey 
and the dog, without looking at Kit at all, or saying "by your leave," 
or even making a bow — went over to a little bare spot near the brick 
wall, and actually began to give a show, right there in Kit's yard ! 

Kit could n't believe his eyes, — but that was his very last minute on 




the door-step for that time. The next minute, he was among the boys, 
looking on. 

First — Master Dog put down the little stool, and Master Monkey set 
the hoops against the wall. The dog then sat up on his hind legs, and 
the monkey jumped on top of his head, and began to blow his horn. 
When Monkey had blown on his horn a good while, he got down from 
Doggie's head and stood up on the stool, holding the two hoops for 
Doggie to jump through. The dog went back a little way, so as to get 
a good start, and then he ran as hard as he could, and made one spring 
right through both of the hoops. When Kit and the boys saw that, they 
clapped their hands and shouted. 

Next, Monkey took a piece of string out of his little pocket and put 
it in Doggie's mouth to make a sort of bridle. Then he jumped on the 
dog's back and be- 
gan to ride him 
around. The boys 
laughed to see the 
dog galloping like 
a horse with the 
little monkey on 
his back, and when 
the dog jumped up 
on a barrel lying 
in the yard, and 
stood there like a 
stone statue, they 
laughed and shout- 
ed more than ever. 

Do sr ore soon 
jumped down from 
the barrel, and 
Monkey got off his 

back. Then Monkey sat down on the little stool and began to blow on 
his horn, and the dog stood up on his hind legs and danced. The boys 
thought this was the best thing of all. " Toot-toot-too-ty-too-ti-ty too!" 
went Master_ Monkey, and skip, skip, skip, went Master Dog up and 
down the yard, turning his head from one side to the other, just as 
dancing people do. 

All these funny tricks amused the boys very much, but at last Master 
Monkey settled down on his stool, and Master Doggie lay down beside 




him. And now, those bad boys wpuld not let them rest. They began 
to tease Monkey to do more tricks by throwing little pebbles at him, 
and to poke long sticks at Doggie, and shout to them to " do it again." 

This made Kit angry, and he pushed the boys aside, and told them 
to go away. But they would not. 

" The dog and monkey are not yours," said one. 

"Well, they are in our yard," said Kit. 

"We'll take them with us," was the reply. But Master Doggie's 
white teeth said "No" to that, very plainly. And Kit replied: 

" No, you '11 only tease 'em. I mean to take care of 'em." 

i8 7 (.-l 


Just then a man in a great hurry glanced over the fence, and came 
quickly through the gate. Instantly the Dog and Monkey bounded 
toward him, and began to frisk and play about his feet. 

"You see, they belong to me," said the man to Kit. "They strayed 
out of the show-tent a while ago, when I was away. But I heard what 

you said about taking care of them, and I am very much obliged. And 
now, if you want to see what the little fellows can do to music, come to 
the tent this afternoon. Here are two tickets." 

"Oh!" screamed Kit with delight, "one for me and one for mother!" 
And this is how Kit saw first a part of the show, and then all of it. 
Vol. VII.— 6. 






Was there ever in all this green and busy w.orld 
such a happy Jack-in-the-Pulpit as I am ! Here is 
St. Nicholas starting out with a new volume, — 
the seventh, — and if here are not just as many, 
yes, more children than ever, — thousands, tens of 
thousands, scores of thousands more, — all eager to 
read it ! 

Every one of these scores and scores of thou- 
sands seemed to me to be looking out of the glad 
eyes of the group of youngsters from the Red 
School-house who crowded about that dear Little 
Schoolma'am yesterday in my meadow. And oh, 
but did n't she look glad and smiling as she talked 
to them and shook hands with them and kissed 
some of the rosy wee mites among them ! 

"What did she tell them?" 

Oh, I did n't hear half. But it was good news, 
for it made them clap their hands and jump 
for joy. It was something about a brand-new 
year-long story for you, by that good Louisa Alcott, 
and another long story by the "Dab Kinzer" 
author ; and still another, a base-ball affair, by that 
splendid old fellow who told you about the " Boy 

How she came to know all this news is a mystery 
to your Jack, but she did know it, and ever so much 
more beside. 

Why, she even told them that henceforward St. 
Nicholas is to have every month sixteen pages 
more than formerly ! 

And besides all this, jolly King Christmas is 
winking and chuckling on his road, and is even 
now not far off beyond the frosty hill-tops. 

To hear of so many good things in store for his 
chicks, would make any Jack almost beside himself 
with delight. But, bless you, my dears, your own 
particular Jack always has special and peculiar 
comforts, so that his pulpit is the cosiest place in 
all the world, even through the early frosts and the 

long, cold winter. For don't I get, all the while, 
your cheery letters and puzzling little questions? 

But now it 's high time to open our budget ; and 
first comes 


Carthage, IU. 

Dear Mr. Jack : A few days ago, while standing in front of a 
store in this place, I saw something run up the inside of the closed 
window. Farther looking showed me that it was a mouse, keenly 
engaged in catching flies._ The instant one came near the sash, the 
mouse would dash upon it, and seldom missed the game. This he 
would eat daintily on the instant, seeming to relish the tid-bit won- 

There was no one in the store to interrupt the chase, and the mouse 
seemed in no manner disturbed by the people who soon crowded 
about the window without. 

All agreed that they had never seen before such an exhibition of 
mouse instinct. But yesterday, I was told a story which seems to 
show that fly-hunting is not confined to my mouse: 

In a country-house, a half-witted girl occupied an attic room alone, 
while sick. She attracted attention by showing with much glee more 
than fifty mice that she had killed in two days. People wondered 
how, in her bed-ridden state, she could have captured them. She 
explained that the mice came up to a window by her bed to catch 
Hies. To her hearers, it seemed stranger that the mice should catch 
the flies than that the invalid girl should catch the fifty mice. 

S. W. 


Travelers in Zululand tell of a pretty little 
brown bird, called "The Watcher," which makes 
its nest on the ground, weaving it of soft grass, and 
building it with two stories. The male bird keeps 
watch over the top of the grass from his seat in the 
upper story, while his little wife is warming the 
eggs below. If he gives a cry of warning, she has 
time to run away safely. 

Snakes would soon find these two-story nests, 
and eat the eggs, but a woven door or screen hangs 
down in front of the eggs, and completely hides 
them. The Watchers are just as kind and at- 
tentive to each other as they are careful of their 
unhatched chicks. 


Williamstown, Mass. 

Dear Mr. Jack : Let me tell you about some queer birds that I 
saw in South Africa. They are called " Hadeda " by the natives, 
and are as large as crows, with long legs and bills, and wings that 
are dark-green in one lighfcand golden in another. The birds look 
like gentlemen in dress suits with their hands folded under their coat- 

The Hadeda live in marshy places, but they are easily tamed to 
live in houses, and soon go in and out as if they were part of the 
family. And, indeed, you might almost think they were part of it, 
for, when they cry, they say "Pa, Pa, Pa! " quickly, like an im- 
patient child. 

Two of these birds that I saw were very fond of the father of the 
family, and would follow him about, all day. On Sundays they 
would even walk after him into church, unless he locked them up at 
home. Once, they actually did walk into church, marching gravely 
up the aisle, and taking their stand near their master, who was the 
minister, behind the little lectem, or reading-desk. It was very funny 
to see those three solemn figures standing there; and it was lucky 
the birds did not think to call out " Pa, Pa, Pa ! " just then, for the 
congregation laughed quite enough as it was. The birds would n't 
go away, although the minister told them to, in a severe tone; so he 
had to walk out, and they followed him into the open air. When 
he came in again, he shut the door close behind him, and so kept 
them out. Yours truly, M. Enahda. 


Your Jack has had plenty of news lately from 
South Africa. Here is some about elephants : 

A large herd of elephants was on its way to 
Zululand, these animals usually passing the cool 




season in its warmer climate, coming south into 
Natal to spend the summer. The herd was fired 
into by everybody who could get hold of a gun ; 
but the animals gave no heed to the bullets, and 
slid down the steep bank of the river Umooti, and 
plowed through its flood, swollen with heavy rains. 
They swam gracefully where it was too deep to reach 
bottom, keeping their ears dry. There were three 
young baby-elephants, however, which screamed 
loudly for help, refusing to go into deep water. 
After a few notes from their trumpets, the mothers 
joined their trunks under the calves' bodies and 
ferried them across. 

When they reached a shallow spot in the river, 

the parents 
paused, and 
gave the 
three young 
ones a good 

The entrance to each of these dwellings is under 
water, and a passage leads from it up to a warm 
nest lined with soft grasses, and high enough to 
be always dry. When the meadow is frozen, there 
is a small hole in the ice near the door. 

One day, in winter, a man saw a musk-rat which 
had caught a crab and was eating it hungrily. 
The rat heard the man near, looked up, but did 
not think it worth while to move away. Presently, 
two dogs came along, and, seeing the rat, ran to 
kill it. This was two to one, and therefore the 
man tried to make the rat go home, and so prevent 
the dogs from getting it. To his surprise, the rat 
made a furious attack upon him, and sent him off. 
Then the dogs came near, but they only sniffed 
and barked ; evidently they did not like to tackle 
an animal that had driven off a man. The man 
and the two dogs waited at a respectful distance, 
while plucky Mr. Musk-rat ate his meal ; that 


sousing, " playing a fountain " over head and ears 
with their trunks. The "infants" took the dose 
meekly, setting a good example to little boys and 
girls who kick and scream under the sponge in a 
shallow bath. 


A SAILOR-MAN writes your Jack that by the sea, 
not far from New York, is a meadow over which 
the salt water flows with every tide ; and in this 
salt-meadow are fifty or more queer untidy mounds, 
built of rushes, and rising about two feet above 
the surface of the water. These are the homes 
of musk-rats, or "musquashes." One of them 
has been built in the stern of a disused boat. 

done, he went quietly home to take a nap, and the 
assembly broke up. 


So, it seems that " Artesian " wells were so 
called from the name of the French province, 
" Artois," in which was dug the first well of the 
kind, in the year 1 126. At least, this is the gist 
of the answers to J. B. L.'s question, which I gave 
out in September. 

Answers came from Oriole — Emma Valentine — Juismer Le Comte 
— C. L. Wheeler — Prinim de Noel — Maisie Balch — W. Shattuck — 
Josephine— I. B. D.— M. H. L — Gertrude Abbott— Nellie C. Emer- 
son — Hannah J. Powell — E. M. Hussey — Sallie W. Peck — Frances 
E. N.— T. T. Wood— E. N. Rochester— Aron Hobby— D. Beatty. 

8 4 




St. Nicholas begins its seventh volume with this number, and, 
besides the promised extra pages, wider margins and heavier paper, 
the publishers have given an additional Frontispiece picture, — which 
is to serve as the frontispiece for the volume, — and a red-line title- 
page, as an earnest that they mean to do always a little better for the 
magazine than they may promise. 

M. A. G. — Some things suitable for Christmas gifts are pictured, 
and the ways to make them described, in the article entitled " Some 
Pretty Things," printed in this number; and you will find the methods 
of making many others described in full, with illustrations and dia- 
grams, in St. Nicholas for December, 1875, and November, 1877. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write to you about a little 
incident that occurred at home. I live 'way down in Louisiana. An 
alligator came from the swamp into our yard. He was about five 
feet long. A flock of turkeys saw him, and followed him around and 
around, so close that they nearly stepped on his tail. He would snap 
at them, and they would jump away; then he would snap at them 
again, and they would jump away. It was very amusing to see the 
turkeys following him. He was a horrible-looking creature with his 
long mouth and formidable teeth — Your friend, Nellie. 

A. P. S. — A little girl, living near New York, suggests sending 
old numbers of the magazine, as soon as they are read through, to 
other little girls who otherwise might not see it. This same thing is 
already done by a great many St. Nicholas boys and girls; but 
there may be some who have not yet tried this easy way of giving 
pleasure to others. 

Fred H. Bear. — To make old silver coins look bright again, wash 
them thoroughly with soap and hot water; then rub them with a 
chamois leather, first with moistened whitening, and afterward with 
dry whitening. See also " Letter-Box," October, 1876. 

Marlboro, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I should like to ask a question ; and, if it 
is answered in the "Letter-Box," I shall be very much obliged: 
Should the children of an American missionary, who are born in 
India or some such place, be called Hindoos or Americans ? — Your 
constant reader, H. F. H. 

arms nestles a pet kitten or dog. A young lady sits at the piano, 
with her fingers on the keys; a tiny pin will keep her little hands in 
place, while the music-box plays the tune for her. By her side stands 
a brother, with a flute or violin, in playing position. At a small 
table, two children are seated engaged in some game. Mother stands 
by the tea-table, richly dressed, holding by the hand a little girl. At 
the fireside sit grandfather and grandmother, with the proper num- 
ber of spectacles and bald heads. In the door-way, at the rear of the 
room, stand a young lady and gentleman, about to enter, ushered in 
by a black servant with many bright buttons on his livery. If you 
choose not to have callers, the servant can be entering the room 
bearing a tray full of things for the tea-table. 

The dresses of the dolls should be very handsome, and in the 
latest fashion. Do not have the dolls too small. Every attitude 
must be made perfectly natural. At the close of the exhibition, the 
family can be sold off or otherwise disposed of. 

A new and pretty way of writing a name in a Christmas gift-book 
is explained and illustrated on pages 10 and n of this number; and 
in St. Nicholas for July, 1874, are some funny pictures showing a 
similar process, but with a very different effect. 


Dear St. Nicholas : We often have nice times in this place swim- 
ming, crabbing and fishing. Crabs are a queer kind of an animal. 
Probably some of the hoys would like to hear how crabs grow. The 
mother is called a " Cow Crab." She produces about ten million 
eggs and then dies. The young do not have the care of the mother, 
but have to take care of themselves. They shed their shells once a 
month. I don't know what a crab is usually called at first, whether 
a soft or hard crab. We say he is a "Buckler." A buckler is 
always very poor to begin with ; but he eats everything he gets hold 
of, which, of course, fattens him up some. Then he is called a 
"Comer." He keeps on eating till he is bigger still; then he is 
called a "Shedder"; and he still keeps on eating and gets bigger 
still, and then cracks a little, and is called a (( Crack-buster." He 
still grows till he is called a " Buster," and then sheds. Then he is 
called a " Soft Crab." 

From your interested reader, 

James Leslie Pearce (13 years). 

Emma Valentine, Thomas Hunt, and Julia M. Ruggles, each 
sent a short verse containing all the letters of the alphabet. Their 
letters were too late for mention in the October " Letter-Box." 

Mrs. Louisa B. Goodall sends St. Nicholas a description of a 
novel kind of "side-show," which might be used in a church-fair, 
but it could be given by little girls at home, perhaps for a charitable 
object, yet not connected with a fair, and might prove very success- 
ful. It is called 

The Happy Family. 

The show must be in a side room, or in a part of the hall cur- 
tained off. The work of preparing this family and their parlor for 
exhibition can be done by six or more young ladies. Some of them 
take charge of the "room," which consists of a box about three feet 
wide and four feet long, or square, if you please. The box is to be 
placed on a table, the open part toward the spectators. Carpets may 
be put on the floor, paper on the walls; windows with lambrequins, 
curtains, and so forth, may be imitated ; and there should be arrange- 
ments for fire-place and grate, with a fire of sparkling metallic foil, if 
possible. A door in the rear of the room should be made to stand 
ajar, and a strong light arranged behind the door. 

Some others of the managers should provide the furniture of the 
room. There ??t7tstbe a piano ; and, if a toy piano cannot be bought, 
a block of wood shaped like a piano, provided with legs, and with 
the keys painted in black and white, will do. Throw a handsome 
cloth partly over it ; and a music-box (out of sight) will fairly serve 
for pianoforte playing. The other pieces of furniture can be bought, 
hired, or borrowed for the occasion, — chairs, tables, sofas, chandeliers 
with real wax candles to be lighted, pictures, ornaments, vases, 
flowers. A table in the center of the room is to be set for tea, with a 
dainty clolh, tea service, tiny biscuits, small berries, cake — in fact, 
whatever one would like for tea must be there in miniature. 

Another part of the committee will see after the " happy family " 
itself, which is composed of dolls. The father stands in the front of 
the room, holding the baby in a long white dress. Baby's head will 
rest on his papa's shoulder or face. A fine wire may be used to fix 
the dolls in their proper positions, but it must be carefully hidden. 
Beside the father stands a little boy dressed in a blue suit; in his 

Dear St. Nicholas: I would like to ask if you could tell a 
remedy for a very peculiar and inconvenient trick of a horse. I 
know a gentleman whose horse will not go out in the rain, hating to 
have the water touch his ears. Almost everything has been tried to 
cure him, without success. If the day is a good one, and the owner 
starts out with him, and rain comes up, he has either to go under 
shelter and wait until the storm is over, or do as I knew of his doing 
once, — take his horse out of harness and leave it in a friend's stable, 
while he borrowed another to take him home. — Yours truly, 

Bella G. Stone, 13 years. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have heard that Friday first began to be 
thought an "unlucky" day, as M. R. T. calls it in the Octo- 
ber "Letter-Box," when the ancient Christians began to keep with 
sorrow and fasting the anniversary of the Savior's death. But 
whether or not that is a good reason for thinking the day unlucky, 
it might be hard to say. However, I will ask your readers, dear St. 
Nicholas, to look through this long old list of fortune-favored Fri- 
days, and then perhaps they may feel inclined to think that, after all, 
it is a lucky day — at least in America. — Yours sincerely, 

The Little Schoolma'am. 

On Friday, August 3, 1492, Christopher Columbus sailed on his 
great voyage of discovery. On Friday, October 12, 1492, he first 
discovered land. On Friday, March 15, 1493, he arrived at Palos in 
safety. On Friday, November 22, 1493, he arrived at Hispaniola, 
on his second voyage to America. On Friday, June 13, 1494, he, 
though unknown to himself, discovered the continent of America. 
On Friday, March 5, 1497, Henry VII., of England, gave to John 
Cabot his commission, which led to the discovery of North America. 
On Friday, September 7, 1565, Melendez founded St. Augustine, 
the oldest town in the United States. On Friday, November 10, 
1620, the Mayflower, with the Pilgrims, made the harbor of Prov- 
incetown; on Friday, December 22, 1620, the Pilgrims made their 




final landing at Plymouth Rock. On Friday, February 22, George 
Washington, the father of American freedom, was born. On Friday, 
June i6 f Bunker Hill was seized and fortified. On Friday, October 
7, 1777, the surrender of Saratoga was made by the British. On 
Friday, September 22, 1780, the treason of Arnold was laid bare, and 
this saved us from destruction. On Friday, October 19, 1781, oc- 
curred the surrender at Yorktown, the crowning glory of the Ameri- 
can arms; and on Friday, June 7, 1776, the motion in Congress was 
made by Richard Henry Lee, that the United States colonies were, 
and of right ought to be, free and independent. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I send you for the "Letler-Box" some 
story riddles. The point is to find out what stories or personages in 
story-books the verses refer to. 

Recall the story, if you can, 

About a lonely shipwrecked man ; 

A gentle savage he reclaims, 

Master and man, who'll name their names? 

A man who climbed the mountain steep, 
With fairies tippling, fell asleep, 
And dozed away life's hopes and fears, 
About the space of twenty years. 

That king and his fair queen, who sent 
A man to seek a continent, — 
Their names and his now tell who can, 
And from what port he sailed, — this man. 

Who laid his cloak before a queen. 
To keep her dainty slippers clean? 
A courtier and a man of pride. 
Tell now his name and how he died. 

In Athens, not the modern " Hub," 
A surly man dwelt in a tub ; 
With lantern lit, he sought by day 
One honest soul : his name please say. 

We play this game on long evenings, each person making a verse 
and handing it to the next neighbor. Then a judge is chosen, and 
whoever fails to answer correctly the verse given to him, pays a 
forfeit.— Yours truly, J. D. L. 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Let me tell you a funny thing about my 
little sister Rosie. She found an egg one day in the grass by the 
pond. So she carried it in her little white apron up to the house and 
into the parlor. She was dressed all in white, for it was late in the 
day, and Papa was expected home soon. No one was in the parlor 
but Brother Tom. 

"Tom," said Rosie, holding her apron fast, "how does hennies 
get the tsickses out of zey eggses?" 

" Why, they sit on them, of course ! Don't you remember how you 
went with me to see old Gray-speckle and put water in her dish ? " 

"Did n't she do nuffin but sit on ze eggses, an' dwink wawa?" 
asked Rosie, anxiously. 

" Why, of course not! " and off went Tom, whistling. 

Rosie thought a little while, with her head on one side. Then she 
took the afghan from the sofa, and put it on the floor, where she 
arranged a "nes*," on which she placed the egg. Next, she brought 
a glass of water, from the hall table, and set it down by the " nes' " ; 
then she gently sat down on the egg. 

There was a soft "squelch," smothered by the afghan! Rosie 
took a sip of water. 

"Ze sell 's broke," paid she, cheerfully; "I wunner how soon ze 
tsick '11 say 'Tseep, tseep.' " 

Five minutes passed, — ten minutes; Rosie took another sip of 
water, and her sweet little face looked troubled, as she felt herself 
settling down on the "nes'." 

" Fwaid zere is n't woom for ze tsick to bweave," said she. 

" Miss Rosie ! Down on the floor in your clean dress ; get up this 
minute, you naughty child!" called nurse, coming into the parlor. 
She was a person of power, for she had been Mamma's nurse, too ; 
but Rosie rebelled. 

" Nursey, I tan't det up ; I'se hatsin' a tsick." 

Rosie was pulled up by a strong hand, and shown a dreadful yel- 
low stain on the pretty white dress. 

Just then Papa's step was heard in the hall. 

Rosie broke away, and, in one minute, was sobbing on her father's 
neck, and telling her pitiful story. 

" I was a hen, Papa, an' Nursey pulled me off my nes' 'fore ze litT 
tsick tould say, ' Tseep ! tseep ! ' " 

" You 'd better set her down, sir, or she '11 egg your coat. ^ And I 
dressed her not an hour ago; and just look at her Ma's new 
afghan ! " 

Now came Mamma. 

" Never mind, Nursey," she said, when she had heard all the 
story; " I do not believe she meant to be naughty." 

" Well, come along, you tiresome mideet, and be made tidy,'' said 
Nursey, laughing, and Rosie (with a wistful look at the " nes' ") was 
carried off. — Yours truly, Alfa. 

Of course, Russell Fraser's three methods undertaking to solve 
H. C. Howland's algebraic problem are incorrect. They slipped into 
the September "Letter-Box" through an oversight, and were not 
found out until it was too late to have an alteration made. Letters 
have been received from everywhere calling attention to the over- 
sight ; and here is a list of the writers' names : 

J. M. S.— J. F. Maynard— Honorable Richard Watson— Paul H. 
Applebach— Rebecca L. Lodge— J. W. J-— Charley T. lamieson— 
Aimee— N. H. Strong— O. C. T.— A. N. Swibbor— Willie S. Burns, 
Jr.— Edward T. Ward— Algernon Bray— D. C. — Miss Julia Wilsor 
— M. D. C— W. B. Dix— G. E. K.— William Rennyson— Vermi- 
fuge— J. Benson Akers— Sarah J. Russ— Harry B. Walter— James 
Blunt— S. Lincoln, Jr.— P. E. M.— C. E. N.— R. C. Taylor, Jr.— 
H. H. Saxe— High School Boy— W. R. Howland— C. G. Rock- 
wood, Jr.— May H.— Charles Groenendyke— C. G. Blatcheler— 
Elmer Durggins— Miss May Townsend— R. H. Howard— A. G. 
H. M. R.—Sturley— Fanny M. Hyde— Alice Gregory— O. E. D.— 
S. K.— An old subscriber— Pupil in R. Academy— Old Reader- 
Sinclair Oliver— "x + y + z"— R. H. W.— Ella B. 

H. C. Howland's problem cannot be solved by simple algebraic 
processes, and the solutions here given will not be understood at all 
by little folk, and are printed solely to satisfy those grown-up readers 
of the " Letter- Box " who are interested in such abstruse things. 

The following is what an expert says about the problem : 

" The equations ? *2 + J jj^ X J cannot, I believe, be reduced by 
artifice, as many of their class may be, to the solution of equations of 
the 2nd degree. They really involve equations of the 4th degree in 
x and y. These equations are found at once by ordinary elimination 
and may readily be solved by well-known methods. The algebraic 
solution of the problem shows that only one pair of the values of x 
and y is expressed in commensurable numbers. This remarkable 
pair may most readily be found by simple inspection. But if one 
likes roundabout work he can proceed thus : 

"Adding the two equations, and increasing each member of the re- 
sult by j4, we have 

x 2 +x+^+y 2 +y+M = X %U therefore (x + U)* T (y4- 
l .»)3 = 2 i =3.1 -L 4 3. 

" This equation is satisfied if (x + J£)2 = 25 and (y + H) 2 = *$ 

that is if x = 2 and y = 3, which values also satisfy the original equa- 

" There are four real values of x (two of them positive and two nega- 
tive) which will satisfy the equations, — and four corresponding real 
values of y, two positive and two negative. 

"This may clearly be seen by the accompanying geometrical 
solution of the problem which follows the method of Analytical 
Geometry. The employment of curves to solve such equations is 
allowed by the principle that every relation between the x and the y 
of an equation is the relation between the co-ordinates of some assign- 
able curve. 






1 ! Pk 

3 [ 

\ q 

1 r 

' v\ \ 

i \ 
; \ 


C - 

! ' 


" The equation x2 + y = \ is represented by the parabola C B D. 
The equation y2 -f x = 11 is represented by the parabola C A E. 
The co-ordinates of their points of intersection E K C D are the 
values of x and y which satisfy simultaneously both equations. 
" Thus we have x = op y = K. p 

x = o q y = Dq (negative value) 

x = Or (neg. ) y = Er 
x = Os (neg.) y = C s (neg.) 
" If the curves had been accurately drawn, the lines named would 
have given closely approximate values of x and y." 




Baltimore, Md. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please ask the readers of the 
" Letter-Box " to tell me how to break a dog from killing chickens ? 

G. B. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Could you tell me how to bleach ferns, so 
that I could make a bouquet of them with skeleton leaves? Please 
tell me in the " Letter-Box." — I remain your constant reader, 

Millie J. Russell. 

Ferns that are to be bleached should be gathered in the country 
in summer, and prepared very soon after picking. But if you can 
find now some that are still vigorous, and not too old,— say in a 
fernery or conservatory,— you may bleach them whole, without 
making them into skeletons, by following these instructions: 

Place the ferns, stems downward, in a glass jar containing two 
quarts of soft water, — rain water is the best, — in which a large table- 
spoonful of chloride of lime and a few drops of vinegar have been 
thoroughly mixed. Cover the jar, and set it in a warm place. Watch 
the ferns closely, and as each one whitens, carefully remove it and 
lay it in a dish of lukewarm water. When all are bleached, let them 
remain in the dish for several hours, changing the water often. Then 
spread them, one by one, upon sheets of blotting-paper, curving 
them as you like, and straightening out the little points with a pin 
Place each sheetful between two other blotting-sheets, and then lay 
all beneath heavy books or weights until the ferns are perfectly dry. 
If any should stick to the paper, press your thumb-nail on the back 
of the sheet and the fems will drop off. If you find the stems too 
brittle to use, you can make imitation ones by painting fine dry twigs 
with white oil-color, and gumming them on. 

You will then have the ferns just as they grew, but white instead 
of green. If, however, you wish first to make them into skeletons 
before bleaching them and putting them into the bouquet, you will 
find in the " Letter-Box " for July, 1875, full directions for doing 
this, and, besides, for covering leaves with sparkling crystals. 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received 
too late for mention last month from Florence L. TurrilL— L. and 
K. Post — "Winnie" — Jno. V. L. Pierson — Wm. McKay— Edward 
Vultee— Will E. Nichols— " Riddlers" — Morris Hutchinson — Bessie 
and Her Cousin — Fannie Densmore — Rita S. Mcllvaine — " Topsy " 
— B. Cushman — "Dick Deadeye" — "Unknown"; and James Bu- 
chanan Johnston, who answered all the July puzzles correctly. 

In the following list the numerals denote the number of puzzles 
solved : 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received before 
September 20 from Dycie Warden, 18, all—" Jim Crow," 7 — W. W. 
Oglesbee, 2— Matie H. Chase, 5 — Millie Van Kleecb, 4 — Rufus B. 
Clark, 2— John H. M. Wells, 1— D. S. Shauts, 11— Julia W. Boyd, 
2— F. S. Smith, 8 — Bessie Campbell, 8 — James Buchanan Johnston, 
18, all— Ella F. Dargue, 2— Jennie S. Ward, 2— Harry C._ Crosby, 3 
—J. Maurice Thompson, 6 — Roberta Thornton, 3 — Bessie Alexan- 
der, 2— Leddie C. Lander, 1— Julia Grice, 4— Annie E Plumb, 5 
—A. W. Stockett, 6— "Old Judge" and Senate, 8— Edith L. Gran- 
ger, 1— Minnie Baker, 2— Lloyd M. Scott, 8— A. T. Bumes, 2 — 
"Guesser," 17— Fannie W. Hunt, 3— E. W. R., 1— Annie G. Baker, 
8— E. B. Clark, 5— Perry Beattie, 2— B. S. and W. T., 7— Bella 
Wehl, 3— Ida Maud Angell, 3— Sallie W. Peck and Family, 6— 
"Scrub and Irish," 6 — Mary L. Otis, 17— Mattie Olmstead, S— 
John V. L. Pierson, 7— Kitty C. Atwater, 13— Carrol L. Mancy, 13 
— Bessie Hard, 7 — Morris Hutchinson. 8— Lizzie H. D. St Vrain,_9 
— Margaret J. Gemmill, 5 — Julia Crofton, 3 — Susie Sipe and Mamie 
Gordon, 13— Kenneth B. Emerson, 2— Nellie C. Emerson, 8 — "No 
Name," 3— "Six Cousins," 17 — B. E. L. T., 6 — Lizzie R. How- 
land, 4 — W. H. Rowe, 9 — Annie Raynes, 3— Millie W. Thompson, 
9 — Lillie Burling, 4 — Kate, Alice and Richard Stockton, 10 — Stanley 
King, 4 — Mollie B. Piatt, 1— Georgie and Carlton Woodruff, 1— 
"Riddlers " 9— C. F. Lipman, 7— J. A. G. M. E. T., 1— " 7, 8, 9," 
i_Will E. Nichols, 5 — Florence Wilcox, 9 — Jennie Mondschem, 1 
^BetsyMondschein, 1— O. C. Turner, 16 — L. W. S., 1 — "Winnie," 
13— Elsie K. Alexander, 1— Wm. McKay, 7— Allen T. Treadway, 13 
— " Oriole," 3— Georgia Harlan, 11— "Three Guessers," 13 — Edward 
Vultee, 13 — Snibbuggledyboozledom, 9— Alfred Keppelmann, 7— 
Jessie Van Buren, 13— Lulu Mather and Brother, 7 — Herbert James 
Tiley, 10 — Arnold Guyot Cameron, 3. 



For Little Puzzlers. 

The answer, composed of two words and spelled with eleven let- 
ters, names an autumn festival. The initials of the words defined, 
taken in the order of the numbering, spell the answer 

1. My 1, 2, 3, 5 is a swift animal. 2. My 2, 4, 5, 3 is to state. 3. 
My 3, 5, 6, 7 is repose. 4. My 4, 5, 6, 7 is a garment. 5. My 5. 3, 
6, 7 is a point of the compass. 6. My 6, 7, 2, 3 is a bright thing (ar 
off. 7. My 7, 2, 3, 5 is a weed that sometimes grows among wheat. 
8. My S, 9, 6, 7 is an army. 9. My 9, 2, 3, 6 are used in rowboats. 
10. My 10, 11, 5, 7 is fit and proper. 11. My 11, 4, 5, 3 is always. 



My whole, spelled with twelve letters, is the name of a profusely 
flowering shrub. 

My 2, 5, 1, 12 is a musical instrument. My 6, 3, 9, 11 is the name of 
a bird now extinct. My 10. 7, 8, 4 is to tear. isola. 


The letter in the middle of the diagram is the initial of each of 
eight four-letter words ending at the points of the star where the 
numerals are set. Each word is here defined, first as it reads forward, 

and then as it reads backward : 1. Season ; to send forth. 2. To ring; 
an insect. 3. A heavy wagon generally used to convey coal : a market 
4. To overflow ; to assemble. 5. An instrument used by mechanics ; 
to plunder. 6. A snare; a portion. 7. Heads; a place. 8. A strong 
current; to publish. H. H. D. 


Each cross-word consists of six letters. The third letters of the 
cross-words, taken as they come, spell a word indicating good times; 
the fourth letters of the cross-words, taken as they come, spell helps 
to spend a vacation enjoyably. 

1. A kitchen utensil. 2. Agonized murmurs. 3. Felt in the wrists. 
4. More thoroughly bleached 5. Concealing. 6. Humiliated. 7. 
Strata. 8. Gone beyond. f. s. F. 


In this puzzle, the letters forming the Perpendicular, except its 
middle letter, are used three times ; once in the whole word, once as 
the final of a short word made from the first portion of the whole word, 
and again as the initial of another short word made with the initial and 
the remainder of the whole word. Thus, if the whole word were " re- 
Dan," the letter D would be used in the center of the whole word, 
at the end of a short word, "reD," and at the beginning of another 
short word, "Dan." In the following statement of the puzzle, the 
whole word is numbered 1 ; the first short word 2 ; and the second 
short word 3. 

Perpendicular, a character named in the title of one of Shakespeare's 
plays. Horizontals: I. 1 Was entertained; 2. distant; 3. a color; 
II. 1. A negative prefix; 2. opposed to consent; 3. a city of ancient 
Egypt. III. A part of me, but not of you or I. IV. 1. Came to- 
gether ; 2. the person you ought to know best; 3. a Latin word 
showing union. V. 1. A disagreeable expression; 2. back or back- 
ward ; 3. to possess. e. D. and L. H. 





Take the middle letter away from one word in each of the follow- 
ing proverbs, and in each case leave a complete word. The abstracted 
letters, read downward, will spell something which is much desired, 
and difficult to use without abusing it. Each comolete word that 
remains after syncopation, is defined after the proverb which con- 
tains it. 

1. " Hopes delayed hang the heart upon tenter hooks." Garden 

2. " Many shout for help when in no danger." Closed. 

3. "Contentment is a good dowry." Boat. 

4. " He who has no bread to spare should not keep a dog." Nail. 

5. " If the doctor cures, the sun sees it; but if he kills, the earth 
hides it." Hints. c. d. 


A very familiar adage. 


1. Behead a pleasant temperature, and leave poor. 2. Behead 
want, and leave smoke. 3. Behead to press, and leave backs. 4. 
Behead a bladder, and leave a pitcher. 5. Behead a reed, and leave 
a part of the head. 6. Behead to bum, and leave to run. 7. Behead 
to show, and leave a metal. 8. Behead a part of a house, and leave 
without stopping. dvcie. 


In the following puzzle, the first definition represents the positive 
degree, the second the comparative, and the third the superlative. 
To form the comparative, prefix to the sound of the positive the adverb 

" more," or add the sound of the syllable " er." To form the super- 
lative, add to the sound of the positive the sound of the letters "st" 
or" est." Example: Behold; learning; farthest down. Answer; 
Lo, lore, lowest. 

1. Lively ; a kind of shark. 2. A large body of water ; dry ; done. 
3. One; anger; chilled. 4. A natural phenomenon common in wet 
weather; a pile of debris at the foot of a glacier. 5. A keen observer; 
a tower; seasoned 6. A name of a girl; to provide meals. 7. A 
garment; a skip. 8. A gulf; unclad; to sew. 9. A poet; to flow; a 
stake. 10. An insect; a beverage; an animal, n. An instrument of 
ancient war; a nuisance; brag. 12. A domestic animal; a vessel; 
accustomed. N. t. m. 


We once attempted, in a quiet way, 

To make a dinner on Thanksgiving Day, 

But (cannibal idea for Christian feast !) 

Had for a dish "the Sick Man of the East" (1). 

Could he be thus disposed of by digestion, 

Soon Russia's Czar would end the Eastern Question. 

A son of Noah (2) for our dinner came, 

Wearing the crown of the Nemean game (3). 

We had the vegetable (4) Raleigh brought 

To England from the far-off" land he 'd sought. 

Another kind (5) which General Marion gave 

To British guest, the sole food of that brave, 

In war's alarm, a hundred years gone by, 

When patriots had heart to starve and die. 

The chaff of naughty boys (6) ; the " staff" of life" (7) ; 

Some small amusement (8); many a man and wife (9); 

The Paynim foe {10), of the Crusaders bold, 

But from his name one syllable withhold. 

A printer's treasures (n) — one, the pump's relation; 

The other, scorn of greenback circulation. 

A product of the dairy (12), closer pressed 

Than e'er was babe to loving mother's breast. 

There were some sweetmeats {13) which a rhyming lay 

Says queenly fingers made one summer's day. 

The fruit (14) that caused the fall of Mother Eve; 

Some martial men (15), whose armor hard we leave; 

Their ammunition {16) in sweet clusters dried; 

And what a cold is like to be beside (17). 

This was our dinner. If you guess it all, 
We may invite you to partake next fall. 


The words read across ; 1. Base. 2 Outdo. 3. Satisfaction. 4. A 
geometrical figure. 5. Blundered. 6. Farming implements. 7. An 
insect. Central Perpendicular, the same as 4. guesser. 


I am composed of thirty-eight letters. 

My 19, 33, 4, 10 was an attendant of Juno. My 31, 29, 35, 29 was 
the goddess of health. My 21, 28, 15, 9, 1, 32 was one of the muses. 
My 20, 21, 13, 3, 27, 2 was the god of fire, and patron of all artists in 
iron and metal. My 5, 37, 36, 12, 16, 29 was one of the iEolian 
isles. My 10, 15, 23, 34, 28, 38 was a race of demi-gods. My 17, 
18, 8, 33, 25. 9, 15, 22 one of hills of Rome. My 14, 8, 24, 6, 27 was 
the mother of Tiberius. My 30, 15, n, 21, 10 was a famous robber, 
son of Vulcan, who stole some of Hercules' cattle. My 7, 8, 26, 38 
was a Roman emperor. My whole is a Latin proverb, to the effect 
that in our eagerness to escape one danger, we are likely to fall into a 


1. A cord. 2. Off". 3. To shut up. 


4. Small catches for hooks. 


1. Behead and curtail to amass, and leave a propelling implement 
2. Behead and curtail flatters, and leave a beard of barley. 3. Behead 
and curtail to chew, and leave cured meat. 4. Behead and curtail a 
general dealer, and leave to touch. cyril deane. 





i39faz^/r:/ -fc^z: fei 

The proverb has six words, and is pictured entire by the upper part of the illustration. The smaller pictures represent words spelled with 
just the same letters that are contained in the proverb, — not one more nor less. The numerals refer to the six words of the proverb. 

To solve the puzzle: find words that describe the small pictures properly, each word to have as many letters as there are numerals 
under its picture. When all the words have been found, write under each its own set of numerals ; the first numeral under the first letter, 
the second numeral under the second letter, and so on. [Thus, supposing the word for the small left-hand picture to be "grub," the 
numeral z would be written under "g," i under " r," 5 under "u," and 6 under "b."] Now write down, some distance apart, the numerals 
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Below figure 1 set down all the letters under which you have written that numeral; below figure 2, all the letters which 
have that numeral under it; and so on, until all the letters have been distributed into groups. On properly arranging the letters of each 
group into a word, and reading off the words in the order of their numbering, the answer will appear. 


Enigma. — Catamaran. Cross-Word Enigma. — Asp. 

Diamond Puzzle.— i. P. 2. MEg. 3. MoNad. 4. PenGuin. 5. 
GaUge. 6. Die. 7- N. 

Seven-Letter Enigma. — Sparing. Household Problem. — 

Three shirts. 

Beheadings and Curtailments. — i. N-ewe-1. 2. H-oar-d. 3. 
T-ape-r. 4. C-alas-h. 5. D-raw-1. h. V-ill-a. 

Drop-Letter Puzzle. — A nod is as good as a wink to a blind 

Quotation Puzzle. — Self-love, my Hege, is not so vile a sin 
As self- neglecting. 
[Not Henry VIII., but Henry V., Act 2, Scene 4. 

Numerical Enigma. — Ataghan. Easy Enigma. — Tongs. 

Word Syncopations. — 1. Chocolate; Col., Choate. 2. Moat: 
o, mat. 3. Reached; ache, red. 4. Tactile; act, tile. 5. Valet; 
ale, Vt. 6. Mislead; isle, mad. 

Beheaded Rhomboid. — j huts 

O P E N S 
S N A P S 
C L A T E 

Very Easy Rebus. — Ninebirds : Knot,Grossbeak, Toucan, Diver, 
Bobolink, Bittern, Crane, Kingfisher, Kite. 

Puzzle. — Five words: Cater, caret, crate, react, trace. 

Articles of Attire. — 1. Hoop-skirt. 2. Locket. 3. Shawl. 4- 
Panier. 5. Seal-skin sack. 6. Sun-bonnet 7. Waterproof. 8. 
Parasol. 9. Pea-jacket 10. Frill. 11. Bracelet 12. Petticoat 13. 
Handkerchief. 14. Hose. 15. Guard-chain. 16. Wrapper. 
Tippet 18. Cape. 19. Slippers. 

Arithmetical Problem. — Multiplicand 74, multiplier 82. 

Two Easy Square-Words. — e poch waste 

pasha allow 

I. osier II. slope 

cheap toper 

harpy ewers 

Transpositions. — Names of trees: 1. Sumach, as much 

Cedar, cared. 3. Limes, smile. 4. Pear-tree, repartee. 5. 

ample. Square-Word. — 1. Girl. 2 Idea. 3. Reed 4. 

Rhomboid and Hidden Diamond. — 
f e a s / 
t r e a t 
t i n e d 
s T E E L 
Rebus.— Couplet : Fortune a goddess is to fools alone; 

The wise are always master of their own. 
Hidden Cities and Rivers.— i. Breslau, Oder. 2. Troy, Hud- 
son. 3. Rome, Tiber. 4. Omaha, Missouri. 5. Paris, Seine. 6. 
Lucknow, Ganges. 7. Cairo, Nile. 

x 7- 


For names of solvers of September puzzles, see "Letter-Box." 




Vol. VII. 

DECEMBER, 1879. 

No. 2. 

[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.] 


By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Jack and Jill went up the hill 

To coast with fun and laughter ; 
Jack fell down and broke his crown, 

And Jill came tumbling after. 

Chapter I. 


" Clear the hill— a ! " was the general cry on a 
bright December afternoon, when all the boys and 
girls of Harmony village were out enj'oying the 
first good snow of the season. Up and down three 
long coasts they went as fast as legs and sleds could 
carry them. One smooth path led into the meadow, 
and here the little folk, congregated ; one swept 
across the pond, where skaters were darting about 
like water-bugs ; and the third, from the very top 
of the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on 
the high bank above the road. There was a group 
of lads and lasses sitting or leaning on this fence to 
rest after an exciting race, and, as they reposed, 
they amused themselves with criticising their mates, 
still absorbed in this most delightful of out-door 

" Here comes Frank Minot, looking as solemn 
as a judge," cried one, as a tall fellow of sixteen 
spun by, with a set look about the mouth and a 
keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal 
with a do-or-die expression. 

" Here 's Molly Loo 
And little Boo!" 

sang out another ; and down came a girl with flying 
hair, carrying a small boy behind her, so fat that 
Vol. VII.— 7.' 

his short legs stuck out from the sides, and his 
round face looked over her shoulder like a full 

" There 's Gus Burton; doesn't he go it? " and 
such a very long boy whizzed by, that it looked 
almost as if his heels were at the top of the hill 
when his head was at the bottom ! 

" Hurrah for Ed Devlin ! " and a general shout 
greeted a sweet-faced lad, with a laugh on his lips, 
a fine color on his brown cheek, and a gay word 
for every girl he passed. 

" Laura and Lotty keep to the safe coast into the 
meadow, and Molly Loo is the only girl that dares 
to try this long one to the pond. I would n't for 
the world ; the ice can't be strong yet, though it is 
cold enough to freeze one's nose off," said a timid 
damsel, who sat hugging a post and screaming 
whenever a mischievous lad shook the fence. 

"No, she is n't; here's Jack and Jill going like 

" Clear the track 
For gentle Jack ! " 

sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for 
nearly every one. 

Down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who 
seemed all smile and sunshine, so white were his 
teeth, so golden was his hair, so bright and happy 
his whole air. Behind him clung a little gypsy of a 
girl, with black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her 
hood, and a face full of fun and sparkle, as she 
waved Jack's blue tippet like a banner with one 
hand, and held on with the other. 




" Jill goes wherever Jack does, and he lets her. 
He 's such a good-natured chap, he can't say No." 

"To a girl," slyly added one of the boys, who 
had wished to borrow the red sled, and had been 
politely refused because Jill wanted it. 

" He 's the nicest boy in the world, for he never 
gets mad," said the timid young lady, recalling the 
many times Jack had shielded her from the terrors 
which beset her path to school, in the shape of 
cows, dogs, and boys who made faces and called 
her " 'Fraid-cat. " 

" He does n't dare to get mad with Jill, for she 'd 
take his head off in two minutes if he did," growled 
Joe Flint, still smarting from the rebuke Jill had 
given him for robbing the little ones of their safe 
coast because he fancied it. 

" She would n't ! she 's a dear ! You need n't 
sniff at her because she is poor. She 's ever so 
much brighter than you are, or she would n't 
always be at the head of your class, old Joe," cried 
the girls, standing by their friend with a unanimity 
which proved what a favorite she was. 

Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose 
as its chilly state permitted, and Merry Grant intro- 
duced a subject of general interest by asking 

" Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night ? " 

" All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and 
we shall have a tiptop time. We always do at the 
Minots'," cried Sue, the timid trembler. 

"Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the 
house, so there would be enough for all to eat and 
some to carry away. They know how to do things 
handsomely," and the speaker licked his lips, as 
if already tasting the feast in store for him. 

" Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having," said 
Molly Loo, coming up with Boo on the sled ; and 
she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had 
none, and tried to care for the little brother with 
maternal love and patience. 

" She is just as sweet as she can be ! " declared 
Merry, enthusiastically. 

" Especially when she has a candy-scrape," said 
Joe, trying to be amiable, lest he should be left 
out of the party. 

Whereat they all laughed and went gayly away 
for a farewell frolic, as the sun was setting and the 
keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as noses. 

Down they went, one after another, on the 
various coasts, — solemn Frank, long Gus, gallant 
Ed, fly-away Molly Loo, pretty Laura and Lotty, 
grumpy Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking 
wildly behind her, gay little Jack and gypsy Jill, 
always together, — one and all bubbling over with 
the innocent jollity born of healthful exercise. 
People passing in the road below looked up and 
smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and 

lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter 
and cries of triumph as they flew by in every con- 
ceivable attitude ; for the fun was at its height now, 
and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of 
pleasure as they looked, remembering their own 
young days. 

"Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I 
would n't dare to do it, so I must," commanded 
Jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge 

" I guess I would n't. It is very bumpy and ends 
in a big drift ; not half so nice as this one. Hop 
on and we '11 have a good spin across the pond," 
and Jack brought " Thunderbolt " round with a 
skillful swing and an engaging air that would have 
won obedience from anybody but willful Jill. 

"It is very nice, but I won't be told I ' don't 
dare ' by any boy in the world. If you are afraid, 
I '11 go alone." And, before he could speak, she 
had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown her- 
self upon the sled, and was off, helter-skelter, down 
the most dangerous coast on the hill-side. 

She did not get far, however ; for, starting in a 
hurry, she did not guide her steed with care, and 
the red charger landed her in the snow half-way 
down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to 
pick her up. 

" If you will go, I'll take you down all right. 
I 'm not afraid, for I 've done it a dozen times with 
the other fellows ; but we gave it up because it is 
short and bad," he said, still good-natured, though 
a little hurt at the charge of cowardice ; for Jack 
was as brave as a little lion, and with the best sort 
of bravery, — the courage to do right. 

" So it is ; but I must do it a few times, or Joe 
will plague me and spoil my fun to-night," answered 
Jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing her blue hands, 
wet and cold with the snow. 

" Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep 
them if they fit; I only carry them to please 
mother." And Jack pulled out a pair of red mit- 
tens with the air of a boy used to giving away. 

" They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must 
be too small for your paws, so I '11 knit you a new 
pair for Christmas, and make you wear them, too," 
said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of 
thanks, and ending her speech with a stamp of 
her rubber boots to enforce her threat. 

Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot 
whence the three coasts diverged. 

" Now, which will you have?" he asked, with a 
warning look in the honest blue eyes which often 
unconsciously controlled naughty Jill against her 

" That one ! " and the red mitten pointed firmly 
to the perilous path just tried. 

"You will do it?" 

' Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janie Pecq's spirit and fun. 




"I will!" 

"Come on, then, and hold tight." 

Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited with- 
out a word while Jill tucked herself up, then took 
his place in front, and off they went on the brief, 
breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence 

" I don't see anything very awful in that. Come 
up and have another. Joe is watching us, and I 'd 
like to show him that we are n't afraid of any- 
thing," said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant 
boy, who had paused to watch the descent. 

" It is a regular ' go-bang,' if that is what you 
like," answered Jack, as they plowed their way up 

" It is. You boys think girls like little mean 
coasts without any fun or danger in them, as if we 
could n't be brave and strong as well as you. Give 
me three go-bangs and then we '11 stop. My tum- 
ble does n't count, so give me two more and then 
I '11 be good." 

Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up 
with such a rosy, pleading face that Jack gave in 
at once, and down they went again, raising a cloud 
of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine 
style with their feet on the fence. 

" It 's just splendid ! Now, one more !" cried 
Jill, excited by the cheers of a sleighing party pass- 
ing below. 

Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved 
to make the third "go" the crowning achievement 
of the afternoon, while Jill pranced after him as 
lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven- 
leagued ones, and chattering about the candy- 
scrape and whether there would be nuts or not. 

So full were they of this important question, that 
they piled on hap-hazard, and started off still talk- 
ing so busily that Jill forgot to hold tight and Jack 
to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape that 
never was to be! alas, for poor "Thunderbolt" 
blindly setting forth on the last trip he ever made ! 
and oh, alas, for Jack and Jill, who willfully chose 
the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter ! 
No one knew how it happened, but instead of 
landing in the drift, or at the fence, there was a 
great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off 
the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy, 
sled, fence, earth and snow, all about the road, 
two cries, and then silence. 

" I knew they 'd do it!" and, standing on the 
post where he had perched, Joe waved his arms 
and shouted: "Smash-up! Smash-up! Run! 
Run ! " like a raven croaking over a battle-field 
when the fight was done. 

Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or 
cry, as the case might be, for accidents will happen 
■on the best regulated coasting-grounds. They 

found Jack sitting up looking about him with a 
queer, dazed expression, while an ugly cut on the 
forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered the 
boys and frightened the girls half out of their 

" He 's killed ! He 's killed ! " wailed Sue, hid- 
ing her face and beginning to cry. 

" No, I 'm not. I '11 be all right when I get my 
breath. Where 's Jill?" asked Jack, stoutly, 
though still too giddy to see straight. 

The group about him opened, and his comrade 
in misfortune was discovered lying quietly in the 
snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her 
face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half 
stunned. But no wounds appeared, and when 
asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort 
of way : 

" I guess not. Is Jack hurt?" 

" Broken his head," croaked Joe, stepping aside, 
that she might behold the fallen hero vainly trying 
to look calm and cheerful with red drops running 
down his cheek and a lump on his forehead. 

Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, say- 
ing, faintly : 

" Never mind me. Go and see to him." 

" Don't ! I 'm all right," and Jack tried to get 
up in order to prove that headers off a bank were 
mere trifles to him ; but at the first movement of 
the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and 
would have fallen if Gus had not caught and gently 
laid him down. 

" What is it, old chap?" asked Frank, kneeling 
beside him, really alarmed now, the hurts seeming 
worse than mere bumps, which were common affairs 
among base-ball players, and not worth much notice. 

" I lit on my head, but I guess I 've broken my 
leg. Don't frighten mother," and Jack held fast 
to Frank's arm as he looked into the anxious face 
bent over him ; for, though the elder tyrannized 
over the younger, the brothers loved one another 

" Lift his head, Frank, while I tie my handker- 
chief round to stop the bleeding," said a quiet 
voice as Ed Devlin laid a handful of soft snow on 
the wound ; and Jack's face brightened as he 
turned to thank the one big boy who never was 
rough with the small ones. 

" Better get him right home," advised Gus, who 
stood by looking on, with his little sisters Laura 
and Lotty clinging to him. 

"Take Jill, too, for it 's my opinion she has 
broken her back. She can't stir one bit," announced 
Molly Loo, with a droll air of triumph, as if rather 
pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt the 
worse ; for Jack's wound was very effective, and 
Molly had a taste for the tragic. 

This cheerful statement was greeted with a wail 

9 2 



from Susan and howls from Boo, who had earned 
that name from the ease with which, on all occa- 
sions, he could burst into a dismal roar without 
shedding a tear, and stop as suddenly as he began. 

"Oh, I am so sorry ! It was my fault ; 1 should n't 
have let her do it," said Jack, distressfully. 

•' It was all my fault ; I made him. If I 'd broken 
every bone I 've got, it would serve me right. Don't 
help me, anybody; I 'm a wicked thing, and I 
deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die ! " 
cried Jill, piling up punishments in her remorseful 
anguish of mind and body. 

" But we want to help you, and we can settle 
about blame by and by," whispered Merry with a 
kiss; for she adored dashing Jill, and never would 
own that she did wrong. 

"Here come the wood-sleds just in time. I Ml 

" Had a little accident, have you ? Weil, that 's 
a pretty likely place for a spill. Tried it once 
myself and broke the bridge of my nose," he said, 
tapping that massive feature with a laugh which 
showed that fifty years of farming had not taken 
all the boy out of him. " Now then, let 's see 
about this little chore, and lively, too, for it 's late 
and these parties oughter be housed," he added, 
throwing down his whip, pushing back his cap, and 
nodding at the wounded with a re-assuring smile. 

" Jill first, please, sir," said Ed, the gentle squire 
of dames, spreading his overcoat on the sled as 
eagerly as ever Raleigh laid down his velvet cloak 
for a queen to walk upon. 

" All right. Jest lay easy, my dear, and I wont 
hurt you a mite if I can help it." 

Careful as Mr. Grant was, Jill could have 


cut away and tell one of them to hurry up." And, 
freeing himself from his sisters, Gus went off at a 
great pace, proving that the long legs carried a 
sensible head as well as a kind heart. 

As the first sled approached, an air of relief per- 
vaded the agitated party, for it was driven by Mr. 
Grant, a big, benevolent-looking farmer, who sur- 
veyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a 
man and a father. 

screamed with pain as he lifted her; but she set 
her lips and bore it with the courage of a little 
Indian; for all the lads were looking on, and Jill 
was proud to show that a girl could bear as much 
as a boy. She hid her face in the coat as soon as 
she was settled, to hide the tears that would come, 
and by the time Jack was placed beside her, she 
had quite a little cistern of salt water stored up in 
Ed's coat-pocket. 

t8 7 9-] 



Then the mournful procession set forth, Mr. 
Grant driving the oxen, the girls clustering about 
the interesting invalids on the sled, while the boys 
came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the 
hill deserted by all but Joe, who had returned to 
hover about the fatal fence, and poor "Thunder- 
bolt," split asunder, lying on the bank to mark the 
spot where the great catastrophe occurred. 

Chapter II. 


Jack and Jill never cared to say much about the 
night which followed the first coasting party of the 
season, for it was the saddest and the hardest their 
short lives had ever known. Jack suffered most in 
body; for the setting of the broken leg was such 
a painful job, that it wrung several sharp cries from 
him, and made Frank, who helped, quite weak 
and white with sympathy, when it was over. The 
wounded head ached dreadfully, and the poor boy 
felt as if bruised all over, for he had the worst of 
the fall. Dr. Whiting spoke cheerfully of the case, 
and made so light of broken legs, that Jack inno- 
cently asked if he should not be up in a week 
or so. 

" Well, no ; it usually takes twenty-one days for 
bones to knit, and young ones make quick work of 
it," answered the doctor with a last scientific tuck 
to the various bandages, which made Jack feel like 
a hapless chicken trussed for the spit. 

" Twenty-one days ! Three whole weeks in bed ! 
I should n't call that quick work," groaned the dis- 
mayed patient, whose experience of illness had 
been limited. 

"It is a forty days' job, young man, and you 
must make up your mind to bear it like a hero. 
We will do our best; but next time, look before you 
leap, and save your bones. Good-night; you '11 
feel better in the morning. No jigs, remember." 
And off went the busy doctor for another look at 
Jill, who had been ordered to bed and left to rest 
till the other case was attended to. 

Any one would have thought Jack's plight much 
the worse, but the doctor looked more sober over 
Jill's hurt back than the boy's compound fractures ; 
and the poor little girl had a very bad quarter of 
an hour while he was trying to discover the extent 
of the injury. 

•" Keep her quiet and time will show how much 
damage is done," was all he said in her hearing ; 
but if she had known that he told Mrs. Pecq he 
feared serious consequences, she would not have 
wondered why her mother cried as she rubbed 
the numb limbs and placed the pillows so tenderly. 

Jill suffered most in her mind; for only a sharp 
stab of pain now and then reminded her of her 

body ; but her remorseful little soul gave her no 
peace for thinking of Jack, whose bruises and break- 
ages her lively fancy painted in the darkest colors. 
" Oh, don't be good to me, Mammy ; I made him 


go, and now he's hurt dreadfully, and may die; 
and it is all my fault, and everybody ought to hate 
me," sobbed poor Jill, as a neighbor left the room 
after reporting in a minute manner how Jack, 
screamed when his leg was set, and how Frank 
was found white as a sheet, with his head under 
the pump, while Gus restored the tone of his 
friend's nerves, by pumping as if the house was on 

" Whist, my lass, and go to sleep. Take a sup 
of the good wine Mrs. Minot sent, for you are as 
cold as a clod, and it breaks my heart to see my 
Janie so." 

"I can't go to sleep; I don't see how Jack's 
mother could send me anything when I 've half 
killed him. I want to be cold and ache and have 
horrid things done to me. Olv, if I ever get out of 
this bed I '11 be the best girl in the world, to pay 
for this. See if I aint ! " and Jill gave such a de- 
cided nod that her tears flew all about the pillow 
like a shower. 

" You 'd better begin at onca, for you wont get 
out of that bed for a long while, I 'm afraid, my 
lamb," sighed her mother, unable to conceal the 
anxiety that lay so heavy on her heart. 




" Am I hurt badly, Mammy ? " 

"I fear it, lass." 

" I 'm glad of it; I ought to be worse than Jack, 
and I hope I am. I '11 bear it well, and be good 
right away. Sing, Mammy, and I '11 try to go to 
sleep to please you." 

Jill shut her eyes with sudden and unusual meek- 
ness, and before her mother had crooned half a 
dozen verses of an old ballad, the little black head 
lay still upon the pillow, and repentant Jill was 
fast asleep with a red mitten in her hand. 

Mrs. Pecq was an Englishwoman who had 
left Montreal at the death of her husband, a 
French Canadian, and had come to live in the tiny 
cottage which stood near Mrs. Minot's big house, 
separated only by an arbor-vitae hedge. A sad, 
silent person, who had seen better days, but said 
nothing about them, and earned her bread by sew- 
ing, nursing, work in the factory, or anything that 
came in her way, being anxious to educate her 
little girl. Now, as she sat beside the bed in the 
small, poor room, that hope almost died within her, 
for here was the child laid up for months, probably, 
and the one ambition and pleasure of the solitary 
woman's life was to see Janie Pccq's name over 
all the high marks in the school-reports she proudly 
brought home. 

" She '11 win through, please Heaven, and I '11 
see my lass a gentlewoman yet, thanks to the 
good friend in yonder, who will never let her want 
for care," thought the poor soul, looking out into 
the gloom where a long ray of light streamed from 
the great house warm and comfortable upon the 
cottage, like the spirit of kindness which made the 
inmates friends and neighbors. 

Meantime, that other mother sat by her boy's 
bed as anxious but with better hope, for Mrs. 
Minot made trouble sweet and helpful by the way 
in which she bore it; and her boys were learning 
of her how to find silver linings to the clouds that 
must come into the bluest skies. 

Jack lay wide awake, with hot cheek, and throb- 
bing head, and all sorts of queer sensations in the 
broken leg. The soothing potion he had taken 
did not affect him yet, and he tried to beguile the 
weary time by wondering who came and went 
below. Gentle rings at the front door, and mys- 
terious tappings at the back, had been going on all 
the evening, for the report of the accident had 
grown astonishingly in its travels, and at eight 
o'clock the general belief was that Jack had broken 
both legs, fractured his skull, and lay at the point 
of death, while Jill had dislocated one shoulder, 
and was bruised black and blue from top to toe. 
Such being the case, it is no wonder that anxious 
playmates and neighbors haunted the door-steps 
of the two houses, and that offers of help poured in. 

Frank, having tied up the bell and put a notice 
in the lighted side-window, saying, "Go to the 
back door," sat in the parlor, supported by his 
chum, Gus, while Ed played softly on the piano, 
hoping to lull Jack to sleep. It did soothe him, 
for a very sweet friendship existed between the tall 
youth and the lad of thirteen. Ed went with the 
big fellows, but always had a kind word for the 
smaller boys ; and affectionate Jack, never ashamed 
to show his love, was often seen with his arm round 
Ed's shoulder, as they sat together in the pleasant 
red parlors, where all the young people were wel- 
come and Frank was king. 

"Is the pain any easier, my darling?" asked 
Mrs. Minot, leaning over the pillow, where the 
golden head lay quiet for a moment. 

" Not much. I forget it listening to the music. 
Dear old Ed is playing all my favorite tunes, and it 
is very nice. I guess he feels pretty sorry about 

" They all do. Frank could not talk of it. Gus 
would n't go home to tea, he was so anxious to do 
something for us. Joe brought back the bits of 
your poor sled, because he did n't like to leave 
them lying round for any one to carry off, he 
said, and you might like them to remember your 
fall by." 

Jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure, 
though he managed to say, cheerfully : 

" That was good of old Joe. I would n't lend 
him ' Thunderbolt ' for fear he'd hurt it. Could n't 
have smashed it up better than I did, could he? 
Don't think I want any pieces to remind me of that 
fall. I just wish you 'd seen us, mother ! It must 
have been a splendid spill, — to look at, any way." 

"No, thank you; I 'd rather not even try to 
imagine my precious boy going heels over head 
down that dreadful hill. No more pranks of that 
sort for some time, Jacky," and Mrs. Minot looked 
rather pleased on the whole to have her venture- 
some bird safe under her maternal wing. 

" No coasting till some time in January f 
What a fool I was to do it ! Go-bangs always are 
dangerous, and that 's the fun of the thing. Oh 
dear !" 

Jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly, 
but never said a word of the willful little baggage 
who had led him into mischief; he was too much of 
a gentleman to tell on a girl, though it cost him 
an effort to hold his tongue, because Mamma's 
good opinion was very precious to him, and he 
longed to explain. She knew all about it, however, 
for Jill had been carried into the house reviling 
herself for the mishap, and even in the midst of 
her own anxiety for her boy, Mrs. Minot under- 
stood the state of the case without more words. So 
she now set his mind at rest by saying, quietly : 

i8 79 -l 



" Foolish fun, as you see, dear. Another time, 
stand firm and help Jill to control her headstrong 
will. When you learn to yield less and she more, 
there will be no scrapes like this to try us all." 

" I '11 remember, mother. I hate not to be 
obliging, but I guess it would have saved us lots of 
trouble if I 'd said No in the beginning. I tried 
to, but she would go. Poor Jill ! I '11 take better 
care of her next time. Is she very ill, Mamma?" 

" I can tell you better to-morrow. She does 
not suffer much, and we hope there is no great 
harm done." 

" I wish she had a nice place like this to be sick 
in. It must be very poky in those little rooms," 
said Jack, as his eye roved round the large cham- 
ber where he lay so cozy, warm and pleasant, with 
the gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows, 
the rosy carpet, comfortable chairs, and a fire glow- 
ing in the grate. 

" I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so 
don't trouble your kind heart about her to-night, 
but try to sleep; that 's what you need," answer- 
ed his mother, wetting the bandage on his fore- 
head, and putting a cool hand on the flushed 

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened 
while the boys sang "The Sweet By and By," 

softening their rough young voices for his sake till 
the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still 
his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear 
slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting 
her hand as it passed. 

"My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered, 
with a touch and a tone that only mothers have. 

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sun- 
shiny smile broke through the tears that filled 
them as he said with a sniff: ' 

" Everybody is so good to me I can't help mak- 
ing a noodle of myself." 

" You are not a noodle ! " cried Mamma, resent- 
ing the epithet. " One of the sweet things about 
pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we 
are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, 
and how easily we can make others happy in the 
same way when they need help and sympathy. 
Don't forget that, little son." 

" Don't see how I can, with you to show me how 
nice it is. Kiss me good-night, and then ' I '11 be 
good,' as Jill says." 

Nestling his head upon his mother's arm, Jack 
lay quiet till, lulled by the music of his mates, he 
drowsed away into the dreamless sleep which is 
Nurse Nature's healthiest soothing sirup for weary 
souls and bodies. 

(To be ccmtinited ) 

wish I knew my letters well, 

So I might learn to read and spell ; 
I 'd find them on my pretty card, 
If they were not so very hard. 

Now S is crooked — don't you see ? 
And G is making mouths at me, 
And O is something like a ball, — 
It has n't any end at all. 

And all the rest are — my ! so queer ! 
They look like crooked sticks — oh dear ! 
Ma counted six, and twenty more ; 
What do they have so many for ? 

9 6 




By F. E. T. 

Every bird, insect and flower, within a hundred 
miles, had been talking about it all summer. The 
leaves were so excited that they could n't stand 
still, and even the cross old crows, who do nothing 
but scold, had promised their young ones, that if 
they would be very good little crows for a whole 
month, they should be taken to see the race. 

disorder, which you know is the most important 
thing in the whole race ; and, for my part, I greatly 
approve their taste in choosing him." 

"Well, if you think so, I 've nothing more to 
say ; but if I get a chance, I shall tell them what I 
think of him." 

With that she flounced off, leaving her com- 


"Yes," said one wily old owl to the other, as 
they retired for the day ; " yes, I heard one of the 
District Telegraph mice say that the Wind was 
going to be umpire." 

"Humph," returned the other, "the Wind! they 
just choose him because he blows so much. I tell 
you, my dear, if you want to make a stir in the 
world, all you have to do is to get on the right 
side of the Wind; he '11 make you fly, I can tell 
you. " 

" That is just the reason they make him 
umpire," replied the first; "he will urge on the 
laggards, they say, and keep things in general 

panion to wonder over the peculiarities of fowl 
nature, as she retired to her nest in an old well ; 
where the moon made faces at her over the brink. 

The race was to be between the Leaves. Every 
tree in the forest sent a delegate, and it was whis- 
pered by a gossiping young squirrel that the rivalry 
in costume would be something perfectly wonder- 

" Old Oak's daughter," he said, "who has been 
dancing and flirting all summer, is to appear in an 
elegant maroon dress just from Robin Redbreast's; 
and all because Monsieur Jack Frost says, maroon 
is going to be fashionable this winter. But it is 

■879- ) 



absurd of her 
to try, for, of 
course, she '11 
never win the 
race ! " 

At last, the 
day arrived, 
and a finer day 
race had never been 
seen. Monsieur Frost had 
been out that morn- 
ing, talking about 
fashions, to such an extent, that every- 
body's cheeks were very red, and some 
had even blushed up to their noses. I 
suppose it was because their clothes 
were not in the latest style ; I'm sure I 
don't know any other reason. 

Old Wind was up bright and early, 
making such a noise and confusion in sweeping off 
the course, that no one could help knowing he was 
going to be umpire. 

The crowd began to assemble long before the 
race began, and, when the time arrived, the grand 

too, and 

trict Telegraph mice to lie down as 

seats ; they proved very soft, and the 

ladies, now being comfortable, began 

to talk with 

their friends. 

"Dear me," 

said Lady Dai- 


Lord Rabbit, who sat next 

to her, " do look at that 

snobbish young Maple ! 

I can tell, by the conceited 

way in which he leans 

against that cobweb, that 

he thinks he is going to 

win the race. I hear he is a great trial to his 
parents, with his extravagant habits ; just see his 
green waistcoat and yellow knee-breeches ; I 'm 
thankful my sons dress plainly 1 " 
"Oh, he 's young yet, he 's 
young yet," said Lord Rabbit, as 
he smoothed down his soft fur waist- 
coat and thought of his own silly 

" Now, there's his cousin, young 
Ash," said Lady Daisy, " with a 
new suit of crimson and brown. I fully ap- 
prove of him, as they say his father is a million- 

Lord Rabbit was just going to reply, when the 
blue-bell sounded the signal to start, and the race 

And what a race it was ! 

Helter-skelter, away they went ! over and over 1 
leaping high into the air, then falling low into the 
dust, until old Wind, getting very excited, jumped 

**— ^* 

stand was so packed that some of the nobility were 
obliged to have toad-stools set in the aisle for 
them. These being too hard for many of the 
ladies (who still insisted upon staying), the mana- 
ger, Mr. Fall Season, ordered several of the Dis- 

up, and, shouting that he was umpire no longer, 
rushed after them. 

They reached the goal, but could not stop, for 

9 8 



old Wind was behind them, and the Trees, and 
the Birds, and the very Air, shouted : 
" He 's mad ! he 's mad ! ! " 


Little Ted Williams sat on a flower-pot, making 
a jolly mud-pie, when he chanced to look up, and 
lo ! in the distance he saw a great heap of Leaves 
blown by the Wind. As they passed him he caught 

the foremost of them, — a deep-red oak-leaf, — and 
put it in his hat. His mother said the color of it 
was maroon, the fashionable shade this winter; 
but nobody heard the Birds and the Flowers say 
to a little gray squirrel, who was sitting on the 
rail fence : 

" Old Oak's daughter won the race, after all. 
Just let your cousin know, will you ?" 

By Howard Pyle. 


The Pig and the Rat. 

A PIG, so fat that it could hardly move, once 
lolling indolently in its sty, saw a poor, half-starved 
rat, that, with much timid alertness, stole from its 
hiding-place, and after seizing one of the many 
grains of corn that lay scattered around, quickly 
escaped with his prize, and with very much the air 
of a beggar who had asked for something to eat, 
and had then run away, ashamed to be seen. 

"You poor creature," grunted the pig, "what 
a life you lead ; half starved and half frozen ! Be- 
hold me now ! Here I am, — a person of conse- 
quence, carefully fed and attended to, with every 
morning fresh, sweet straw thrown to me to make 
my bed soft and warm. As for you, poor creat- 

ure, it is only at the risk of your life, by constant 
labor and struggles with your fellow-creatures, and 
even by beggary, to speak of nothing worse, that 
you can contrive to live at all." 

" Please to recollect," said the rat, as he paused 
for a moment at the mouth of his hole, " when 
you heap your pity upon me, that you receive 
favors and benefits not on account of the love your 
master bears you, nor on account of your own 
worthiness, but because of the use which he in- 
tends making of you, when he has fattened you up 
to his liking. As for me, I do not live in constant 
fear of the butcher's knife, and I think it is likely 
that I shall keep my place in the world, poor as 
it is, much longer than you will keep yours." 

i8 7 9-] 



The Lazy Chimney. 

A CHIMNEY, feeling proud of the important posi- 
tion it held, refused to perform its duty. 

"Here am I," it said, proudly, "an important 
and indispensable portion of this house to which I 
belong. Shall I, then, important as I am, con- 
tinue to carry off the foul smoke, that even the very 
logs in the fire-place refuse to retain ? Never ! " 
Accordingly, the following day, instead of carrying 
off the smoke as usual, it sent it disdainfully into 
the house, nearly strangling the family within. 

The master of the house soon perceiving where 
the fault lay, thus addressed the chimney : 

" Since you refuse to fulfill the office that is 
required of you, and as you are neither an object 
of beauty nor an adornment to the house, you will 
soon discover that a useless object has no place 
in this world." Then calling his servants together, 
they soon demolished the chimney, and in its 
stead erected one that was more willing to per- 
form a chimney's duty. 

The Sapling and the Sycamore. 
A tender sapling, to protect itself from the 
various perils attendant upon its existence, had 

grown closely to the trunk of a large and powerful 
sycamore, finding there security from danger. 

One day, however, a terrible storm arose, and 
the sycamore, in spite of its struggles, was hurled 
prostrate upon the earth. In its fall it not only 
crushed the sapling beneath its huge bulk, but tore 
its very roots from the earth where it grew. 

"Alas!" said the dying sapling, "how foolish 
it is to place utter dependence upon the strength 
of another !" 

The Wind and the Man. 

The wind observed with amusement the vast 
labor with which a man built himself a house. 

" Ho ! ho ! " waved the wind, as it dashed down 
upon the laborer, " do you expect that puny edifice 
to protect you from the elements ? Behold ! I with 
a breath can destroy it." 

Hereupon, accumulating the utmost amount of 
its power, it dashed down upon the house with a 
roar, and utterly demolished it. 

" It is easy for you to criticise, and not very 
difficult for you to destroy my unfinished work," 
said the man, standing sadly in the midst of his 
ruined cabin, " but, now that you have thrown, 
it to the earth, can you erect a better ? " 


(A Story of a Long Ago Christmas.) 

By Martha C. Howe. 

In leathern volume, old and quaint, 
I read, one Christmas-tide, 

Stories of lady and knight and saint 
Who loved and suffered and died ; 

But one of a simple and noble child 
Was sweeter than all beside ; — 

Then rode the knights from the castle gate 

In glitter of martial pride, 
Ready to meet the warrior's fate 

Or stand at the victor's side ; 
And within the walls, save page and serf 

There were none, to shield or guide. 

A little page in castle hall 
Fair-faced, with golden hair, 

Who waited his lady's lightest call 
And stood at the baron's chair ; 

Or sang, with silvery voice and sweet, 
And chanted the evening prayer. 

In the lady's bower was heard no song, 
All hearts were chill with dread ; 

The weary days, how sad and long ! 
Laughter and light were fled, 

And when they chanted the evening prayer 
They were thinking of their dead. 

And life, in the castle, was bright and gay 
With chase and feast and dance, 

One hundred good knights held courtly play, 
And tilted with gleaming lance, — 

When tidings came of invading foes, 
And war with haughty France. 

Darker and deeper grew their woe 
As Christmas-eve drew near ; 

For the baron's fiercest, deadliest foe, J 
With many a flashing spear, 

Rode up and clattered the castle gate 
With mocking words of cheer. 




•" Good thirty men behind me ride, 
The bravest in the land ; 
I come to break your baron's pride, 

And offer a mailed hand. 
Will ye be crushed in its iron grasp ? 
Or tamed to my command? 

" Ye are but women few and lorn ; 
Your 'frighted menials flee ; — 
Ho, lady ! vain thy lofty scorn. 

Bring down the castle key ! 
Come down and plead for leave to live, — 
Upon thy bended knee ! " 

Then stood she up before them all, 

That lady brave and true : 

" So ye besiege defenseless wall, 

And war with women few ? 

I will not yield my castle key, 

Cowards, whate'er ye do ! " 

The knight laughed loud in bitter hate : — 

" Fine words, my lady bold ; 
To-night, before thy castle gate, 

We feast and revel hold. 
When the matin bells of Christmas chime 

Know that thy doom is tolled." 

That night, within the lofty hall, 
Fair faces blanched with fear : 
•' Must we in vaii) for mercy call ! 
Is there no succor near ? " 
What prayers rose up that dreary night 
Broken with sob and tear ! 

In the cold gray light of Christmas morn, 
They wait the summons grim 

What music on the air is borne, 
Thrilling the silence dim ? 

It is the voice of the little page, 
Singing a Christmas hymn ! 

■" O Christ, upon whose natal morn 
Rejoicing angels sang, 
When o'er the blue Judaean hills 
Their heavenly anthems rang! 

" O Christ, to whom with gifts from far 
Came shepherd, sage and king, — 
Our choicest gifts on this glad morn, 
Our hearts, we humbly bring ! 

" Grant us to follow Thee in love, 
Nor from Thy path to stray, 
Thy blessed feet have gone before 
And glorified the way. 

" We join the angel choirs that sing 

This happy morn again, 
' Glory to God the Lord most High, 
Good-will and peace to men ! ' " 

There were no faltering tones of fear 

In all that joyous song; — 
The childish voice rang ioud and clear 

The vaulted halls along, 
And trembling ones who heard the strain 

Grew comforted and strong. 

But soon below the castle wall 
Pealed out a trumpet blast, 

And hoarsely rose Sir Ronald's call : 
" Thine hour hath come, at last! 

Now yield me up thy castle key; 
The respite-time is past ! " 

The cruel words still filled the air 
When, with a valiant grace, 

The little page sped down the stair. 
The dreaded foe to face. 

The castle key gleamed in his belt 
As on he went apace. 

Great shouts of taunting mockery came 
From the armed band below. 

Ha ! fallen house and haughty dame ! 
End all your glories so?" 

But Ronald shrank before the child, 
As from a sudden blow ; 

Then sternly spake: "There is no time 

For quip or parley now ; 
The matin bells have ceased to chime, 

And Ronald keeps his vow ! 
Go tell thy haughty lady there 

Her doomed head to bow." 

My lord," — the voice was low and clear, 
" One word to thee I bring ; 

Not from a woman white with fear, 
But from the Heavenly King, — 

A message which thou well mayst hear 
Before thou do this thing! 





" But if the holy Christmas hour 
Brings no kind thought to thee, 
My little life is in thy power, 

Set but my lady free, 
And I will bless thee e'en for death.. 
Nor ask for liberty ; 




: Do with me as thou wilt, my lord,— 

Here is the castle key, — 
Yet give me first thy knightly word 

To set my lady free ! 
Our King hath given me this trust ; 

Spend all thy wrath on me." 

The knight bowed low his haughty head 

Upon his mailed hand ; 
He who before a foe ne'er fled, 

Nor failed in fight to stand, 
Sat faint and white before them all, 

Unanswering and unmanned ! 

Slowly stretched forth a kindly arm, 

The voice grew low and mild; 
E'en hate could find no power to harm 

The faithful, dauntless child. 
Live on, my boy, to sing again 
Thy praises undefiled ! " 

He stood before the wondering boy, 
And raised the massive key : 

I give thee Christmas cheer and joy, 
Life for thy friends and thee ! 

The lady hath her liberty, 

Thy hand hath set her free ! " 

The maidens cowering in the hall 
Hear a loud trumpet blare, 

And thirty horsemen from the wall 
Ride off in order fair. 

The little page with the castle key 
Comes slowly up the stair. 

That night, at chime of vesper bell, 
Pealed forth an anthem choice ; 

But far above the organ's swell 

Rang out a childish voice: 

" My soul shall magnify the Lord, 

My heart in him rejoice ! " 






By J. W. De Forest. 

Although Thomas Feathercap was only fifteen 
years old, he felt sure that the captain would not 
dare to sail without him, because his father, Mr. 
Ezra Feathercap, of Salem, was owner of the ship. 
So, while the sailors were filling the puncheons 
with sweet water from the spring, he shouldered 
his Winchester rifle and wandered along the shore 
of the unknown island, or continent, or whatever 
it might be, at which the vessel had stopped. 

It was a particularly strange and uninhabitable- 
looking country. As Thomas afterward expressed 
it, everything was very scattered and very large 
and very unhandy. There were trees which had 
just the shape and style of alder-bushes, but which 
were a foot in diameter and ten feet apart and forty 
feet high. There were flint bowlders, as round 
and almost as smooth as our sea-side pebbles, yet 
as big as millstones or as haystacks. Thomas 
found the shell of a dead horsefish, exactly like the 
horsefishes which he had seen on the Essex beaches, 
but large enough for a tall man to lie down in at 
full length. A little back from the sea he saw a 
glaring precipice, or bluff, which hid all the inland 
regions, and yet strangely resembled a common 
whitewashed fence. Notwithstanding his spirits 
and the fifteen shots in his rifle, Thomas began to 
be daunted by the general volume and unhandiness 
of things. 

" I 'm glad that horsefish was n't alive," he said. 
" I guess I 'd better be getting back, before any 
more of 'em come ashore. I don't want to be 
eaten by a horsefish." 

But just then he came upon a still more surpris- 
ing and alarming sight. It was a series of human 
footprints in the sand, each one of them nearly as 
long as himself. Thomas perceived at once that, 
if the creature who left these tracks should return 
and should make a grab at him, it would be a very 
unequal tussle. Fighting a lion, or a grizzly bear, 
even, must be light and trifling employment, com- 
pared with fighting a giant whose shoes measured 
five feet from heel to toe. Tommy was tremen- 
dously scared ; he forgot that he had a rifle, and 
even forgot that he had legs ; he stood perfectly 
still and bawled to the ship for help, although it 
was a mile away. 

But his outcry only brought him into greater 
trouble. There was an awful rustle in a neighbor- 
ing thicket of the tree-like bushes, and then 
Thomas saw a most monstrous and ponderous 
giant running toward him. He was about thirty 

feet high, and very nearly three yards across the 
shoulders, and must have weighed many tons. 
The largest ox that ever was seen would have been 
only a lap-dog to him, and the American eagle 
could have perched on his little finger like a canary- 
bird. But big and dreadful as he looked, he 
seemed to be very clumsy, for he ran with uncer- 
tain, tottering steps, and presently he went slam- 
bang on his face, kicking his great fat legs over his 
head and grunting like a whole drove of pigs. 

While the giant was blowing the sand out of his 
mouth, and slowly getting on all fours as if to rise 
to his feet, Thomas Feathercap prepared to defend 
himself. He was not so frightened but that he 
could cock his rifle and face his enemy. Mean- 
time, too, he stared at the surprising shape and 
dress of the giant, and wondered if giants in gen- 
eral had such figures and costumes. This par- 
ticular giant wore a velvet cap and long feather ; 
also a blue frock, which looked as if he had out- 
grown it, and which stuck out funnily in the short 
skirt ; underneath this, cotton drawers edged with 
frills, all quite visible to a person who stood so 
much below him as did Tommy ; checkered stock- 
ings, which only partially covered his tremendous, 
pink legs ; and, lastly, red shoes badly stubbed 
at the toes. 

His face, five or six feet across, was as round as 
the full moon and had as many dimples in it as a 
baby's. His expression was very mild and some- 
what troubled. His under lip stuck out, in a 
tremulous way, and there was a tear as big as a 
hen's egg on his monstrous, quivering cheek. He 
looked as if he had hurt himself in falling, and 
could hardly keep down a whimper. If he had 
been only three feet high, instead of about thirty, 
he would have been ridiculous or pitiable, and 
Thomas would probably have laughed at him, or 
offered to brush off his jacket. 

As it was, he was pretty dreadful. Suppose he 
should merely fall down again, and smash a fellow 
as thin as blotting-paper? Thomas realized that 
he must keep the monster at a distance. He 
bawled as loudly as he could: "Hold up there! 
You stand off, will you?" 

The giant appeared to hear him, but not to see 
him. He opened his enormous rose-bud mouth, 
and turned his huge blue eyes in every direction. 
He looked out to sea, and then up and down the 
shore, and then straight into the sky, meanwhile 
turning slowly round on his immense trotters. 




After he had stared about in this childish, drooling 
way for half a minute, he resumed his queer, tod- 
dling march toward the beach. He was within fifty 
yards of Tommy, and likely to trample him down 
in a few more seconds, when the latter fired a shot 
at him, just by way of a caution. The ball struck 

Now at last the giant saw him. He stopped cry- 
ing all at once, and stared at him with a mouth as 
round as a cart-wheel. Then he started back in 
such haste that he fell down again, this time in a 
helpless sitting position, kicking his great plump 
feet about at a furious rate, like a child in a fright. 


one of his spacious knees," and buried itself in a 
great dimple. The effect was tremendous. The 
giant uttered a cry as loud as the whistle of a 
steam-engine, and began to rub his knee with his 
ponderous chubby hand, meanwhile looking at it 
with a face full of anguish. 

"Well, I told you to stand off!" shouted 
Tommy, getting his rifle into position again. 
" I '11 give you another one if that is n't enough." 

After a while, finding that he was not hurt, he 
slowly got on his legs once more, and stood staring 
at Tommy. What with the tears on his big cheeks, 
and his monstrous mouth wide open, and his ex- 
pression of timorous wonder, and his very prodig- 
ious size, it was hard to say whether he was most 
funny or dreadful. 

" Don't you step on me ! " yelled Tommy, at the 
top of his voice, and retreating a few paces. 

i8 7 9-J 



" I aint a do-in to," replied the giant. And And he fired another shot right past the aston- 
then he began to rub his knee and scream again, ished monster's ear. 
though somewhat more composedly than before. The giant looked all about him with his mouth 

• f M#%f^ - 


"What are you bawling about? "asked Tommy, open, and then looked at Tommy, and then 

with some contempt. laughed. " Was that you popped?" he asked. 
" A bee 'tung me," said the whimpering giant. " Yes," said Tommy, hoping to scare him, and 

" It was n't a bee," explained Tommy, smiling to so keep his great feet at a safe distance. 
himself. " Look here, — I '11 show you what it was." " Pop it adain," grinned the giant. 
Vol. VII.— 8. 




Tommy fired one more shot close to the other ear 
of the child-mountain, which so delighted him that 
he jumped up and down and laughed with a mighty 
noise. Indeed, he seemed to be a very playful 
monster, for the next minute, catching sight of the 
ten-foot horsefish, he made a run for it, seized it by 
the tail and flung it several rods out to sea, scatter- 
ing pailfuls of water and wet sand all about him. 

" Goodness !" muttered Tommy. " What if he 
should give me such a send-off as that !" 

He resolved not to plague the giant, and also to 
keep his rifle cocked. 

" What 's your name ?" he asked. 

" Budsy," answered the child-mountain. 

"Oh, that 's it, is it?" said Tommy. "Well, 
Budsy, if you '11 keep out from under my feet, and 
look where you step yourself, we '11 get along first 
rate. Where do you live ?" 

Budsy pointed indefinitely inland, and then 
abruptly set off on a run toward the forest of 
gigantic alders, as if he had forgotten something 
there. When he re-appeared, he was pushing be- 
fore him a prodigious vehicle, at least as high as 
an ordinary house, and which had much the look 
of a baby-wagon. 

" It 's my 'ittle sister," he said, pointing inside 
with a grin. " She 's a girl-baby." 

" Is she!" stared Thomas, quite confounded at 
the idea of a giant girl-baby, a thing which he had 
never thought of before. 

" I '11 show oo," said Budsy, and proceeded to 
fumble inside the carriage, at a fearful height from 
the ground. Presently he lugged out the most 
colossal infant that Thomas had ever seen, even 
in a nightmare. It was about as big as an elephant, 
and must have been at least as heavy. Its great 
dimpled face was so fat and tranquil, and its large 
blue eyes were so innocent, that Thomas rather 
admired it, though it was twenty feet above his 

" Look here, you 'd better be careful," he said. 
" If you drop it all that distance, it '11 hurt it." 

The giant set the huge baby down on a sand- 
hill, and held its broad back with his thick hand, 
so that it could sit up. He seemed to be very 
fond and proud of his juvenile relative. 

" Do oo want to kiss it ?" he asked. 

"I guess not to-day," said Thomas. "You 
bring it here to-morrow about this time, and 
I '11 come round and see what I can do. You just 
tell me where you live." 

Budsy hastily put the girl-baby back into the 
wagon, and covered it up with forty or fifty square 
yards of blanket. 

" Come and see my papa's house," he said. 

" Just as lieve," answered Tommy, who had 
begun to take kindly to the harmless monster, and 

who, moreover, felt curious to know what a giant's 
house was like. So, leaving the tremendous infant 
to go to sleep again, they trudged inland toward 
the white precipice already mentioned, the child- 
mountain a long distance ahead, and gaining a 
fathom at every step. 

" Can oo dit over dis fence ? " asked Budsy. 

Tommy looked up at the precipice, and saw that 
it was indeed a fence, built out of boards a foot 
thick and ten or twelve feet wide, the whole daubed 
with great lumps of whitewash. 

"No!" he replied. "It 's more 'n forty feet 

The giant grinned. He evidently felt superior 
to Tommy, and was very proud of the superiority. 

" I can dit over it," he said. 

Then he proceeded to climb, taking hold of the 
top of the fence with his chubby hands, and stick- 
ing his fat right foot into a knot-hole as large as a 
cart-wheel, and finally getting his left leg over. By 
this time he was red in the face, and puffed and 
gasped like a porpoise. Moreover, one of his socks 
caught in a nail about a yard long, so that he could 
make no further advance. There he stuck and 
struggled. It was a really dreadful spectacle. His 
broad countenance assumed an anxious expression, 
which rapidly changed to terror. 

" I sail fall," he whimpered. "Catch me." 

Tommy, on his part, was almost equally scared. 
What if the child-mountain should tumble and 
break his corpulent neck ? " Then they 'd think I 
killed him," he said, forgetting how small he was. 
" They 'd have me up for murder." 

Meantime, the giant scratched and kicked with 
the strength of four elephants, but so stupidly and 
clumsily that it seemed as if there were no hope for 

"Hold on tight, you little goose!" screamed 
Tommy. " Jerk your leg." 

Budsy did just as he was told, and finally got 
loose, and with difficulty came down on his feet. 

" Did you hurt yourself?" asked Tommy, com- 

The giant did n't say anything, but he lifted up 
the skirt of his frock and looked piteously at his 
knee. There was a scratch as long as a hoe- 

"Oh, never mind it," said Tommy. "Don't 
boohoo ; I 've been scratched worse 'n that many 
a time." 

Budsy seemed much comforted by this informa- 
tion, and merely wiped and rubbed his knee, with- 
out crying. 

" You 'd better be more careful of yourself, 
Budsy," continued Tommy. "You '11 get a bad 
tumble some day, if you don't keep off these 
fences. Don't stop to stare at your scratch. Let 's 




go down to the shore an' wash it. Salt water 's 
good for sores." 

"Is it?" said Budsy ; and off he went on his 
queer, toddling trot, leaving Tommy far behind 
him. But on the way he stopped at the baby- 
wagon, and commenced to fumble in the lower 
part of it, meanwhile talking baby-talk to his ' ' ittle 
sister." When Tommy overtook him, he had got 
out a toy boat about twelve feet long, and held it 

the ship working out of the bay and heading for 
the open sea, while a giant, who must have been 
two or three times as big as Budsy, was vainly en- 
deavoring to catch it by wading. The ship was in 
full sail before a brisk wind. 

For half a minute our brave Yankee boy was 
quite paralyzed with grief and despair. Then it 
occurred to him that there was just one means of 
escaping, and that he must try it without a mo- 


up in both his hands, looking with a grin at the 
sails bellying in the wind. 

" I dot a boat," he said. 

"That's sloop-rigged," observed Tommy. "I 
can work that kind. Let 's see it sail." 

" Dere 's anoder boat," added Budsy, looking off 
to the left and giggling with delight. 

Tommy looked also, and to his horror beheld 

ment's delay. He ran after his overgrown play- 
mate, who by this time was squatting on the edge 
of the shore, evidently with the purpose of launch- 
ing his boat. 

" Hold on, Budsy ! " he screamed. "Don't shove 
her out yet. Let me see." 

" Do 00 want to dit in? " asked the simple giant, 
not in the least suspecting Tommy's intentions. 




"Yes," replied Tommy, overjoyed. "Let me 
sail her for you. I know how to work boats." 

The sloop was already in the water, her stern 
held fast between Budsy's thumb and finger, and 
her bows pointing toward the open sea. Tommy 
never minded wetting himself, but dashed knee- 
deep through the ripples and clambered aboard. 
Then, to his great disgust, he saw that there was a 
rope fast to the taffrail, and that the baby-giant 
held the other end of the rope in his hand, evi- 
dently for the purpose of keeping his boat from 
going to sea. Of course he proposed to cut it, but 
Budsy shook his big head, and said : 

"No, I sail loss it." 

" Oh, cut it !" begged Tommy, with tears in his 
eyes. " You cut it, and see what '11 happen. I 
can sail boats like anything." 

He really felt ashamed of himself, however, as 
he thought of what he meant to do, and looked 
up in Budsy's great fat face, and noted its sim- 
ple, innocent expression, mixed with anxiety. 

" I haint dot no knife," explained the boy giant. 

" Well, break it then," ordered Tommy. 

So Budsy broke the rope with his fingers, giving 
the boat an awful shake in the effort, and sending 
Tommy flat on his face. Then, giggling at his 
success, he put his wet thumb against the stern, 
and shoved the little vessel into deep water. 

"Look out!" roared Tommy, who had nearly 
rolled overboard; — "that's all right," he added, 

as he seized the tiller and gave it a turn. In 
another minute the wind caught the clumsy main- 
sail, and the boat began to fly through the foamy 
surges. Tommy saw his father's ship standing 
along the shore, not more than a mile away, and 
felt sure that he would now get clear of the land of 
the giants. 

"Good-bye, Budsy!" he called. "Don't cry, 
old fellow. I '11 send your boat back to you." 

But Budsy did cry. He seemed to realize all at 
once that his playfellow and plaything were leaving 
him, and he set up such a roar of grief that 
Tommy's heart fairly ached to hear it. Moreover, 
he waded knee-deep into the water, holding up his 
frock with one hand, and pointing with the other 
after his boat, while tears swashed down his red 
cheeks and splashed into the ocean. 

Well, Tommy at last reached the ship in safety, 
and then started the giant's boat back to him. The 
last seen of it was that Budsy had got it in his arms 
and was toddling back to the baby-wagon with it, 
his great big tears, let us hope, all dried. 

Such was the adventure of Thomas Feathercap 
in Giant Land. It was of great use to him in the 
struggles and trials of his after life. Whenever he 
met a trouble of more than ordinary magnitude, 
and it seemed to him that his strength must fail at 
the bare sight of it, he would say to himself: 
"Well, I have learned by experience that some 
giants are babies, and can be handled." 

onsider, now, a painter-man who thought himself divine, — 
Correggio Delmonico del Michael Angeline ; 
"Fine portrait-painting done within," was printed on his sign, 
And all around his studio his works hung in a line. 

When he painted little boys, he said : " How plainly I can see, 
I am such a mighty lion that they 're afraid of me ! " 
And when he painted little girls, — " Dear little things ! " said he, 
" They 're shy because I awe them with my grace and dignity." 

" 'T is wonderful," he oft remarked, "the colors that I know; 
The sky is green, the grass is red, and blue the roses blow ; 
And yet the people look amazed whene'er I paint them so, 
And seem to think that higher yet an artist ought to go ! " 

Well, it was strange, it came to pass that men took down the sign ; 
For never one would take away, for pay, his pictures fine. 
And that is all I know of one who thought himself divine, — 
Correggio Delmonico del Michael Angeline. 




By J. T. Trowbridge. 

When the Spaniards, under the famous Cortes, 
came to Mexico in 15 19, they found the counts- 
inhabited by a people very different from our 
North- American Indians. 

They had cities, palaces and temples, which 
astonished the Europeans by their riches and mag- 
nificence ; and they were governed by monarchs 
who lived in Oriental luxury. In some of 'the arts 
of civilization they excelled the Spaniards them- 
selves. They had a knowledge of astronomy, and 
Cortes found their method of reckoning time — 
making allowance for the fraction of a day over the 
three hundred and sixty-five days in each year — 
more exact than the Christian calendar. They 
had vast farm-lands watered by artificial means; 
and their beautiful gardens gave Europe a lesson 
in horticulture. On the lakes about the city of 
Mexico were floating gardens, formed of rafts 
covered with rich mud from the lake bottom, and 
glowing with the luxuriant flowers and fruits of the 
tropics, — the wonder of the Spaniards. 

They were skilled in the arts of war, as well as 
in those of peace. They had bows and arrows, and 
lances, and other weapons ; and their generals 
knew something of stratagem, and of the wielding 
of great armies. But they knew nothing of powder 
or guns, and they had no horses. So, when the 
Spaniards came with their loud-roaring artillery 
and musketry, and mounted men who seemed a 
part of the strange beasts they managed, the 
natives, though they fought desperately for a while, 
gave way at last, and we have the romantic story 
of a numerous and powerful people conquered by 
a mere handful of Spanish troops ! 

The most enlightened of all the tribes then in- 
habiting the country were the Tezcucans. Tez- 
cuco, the capital of their country, was on the 
eastern side of the lake of Tezcuco, near the west- 
ern side of which was Mexico, the capital of the 
renowned Aztec emperor, Montezuma. The Tez- 
cucans and the Aztecs were confederates in war ; 
and, if left to themselves, they would probably 
have become one nation, in the course of time 
extending their sway over all the races of North 
America. But the swelling wave of native civiliza- 
tion was met by a mightier wave from the Old 
World, and the spirit and power of these extraor- 
dinary people sank, never to rise again. In the 
sad and broken-spirited Mexican Indians of to-day, 
one fails to recognize the children of the warlike and 

industrious tribes whom the Spaniards came to 
plunder and to convert to their own religion. 

About a hundred years before the coming of 
Cortes, lived a Tezcucan prince whose history has a 
peculiar interest, from its striking resemblance to 
that of the Hebrew King David. His name is a 
hard one, but by dividing it into double syllables 
we may master it, — Neza-hual-coyotl. In his 
youth, like David, he was obliged to flee for his 
life from the wrath of a morose monarch who occu- 
pied the throne, and he met with many romantic 
adventures and hair-breadth escapes. 

Once, when some soldiers came to take him in 
his own house, he vanished in a cloud of incense, 
such as attendants burned before princes, and con- 
cealed himself in a sewer until his enemies were 
gone. He fled to the mountains, where he slept in 
caves and thickets, and lived on wild fruits, occa- 
sionally showing himself in the cottages of the poor 
people, who befriended their prince at the peril of 
their own lives. Once, when closely pursued, pass- 
ing a girl who was reaping in a field, he begged 
her to cover him from sight with the stalks of 
grain she was cutting; she did so, and when his 
enemies came up, directed the pursuit into a false 
path. At another time, he took refuge with some 
soldiers who were friendly to him, and who covered 
him with a war-drum, about which they were danc- 
ing. No bribe could induce his faithful people to 
betray him. 

"Would you not deliver up your prince if he 
came in your way?" he once asked a young 
country-fellow, to whom his person was unknown. 

" Never ! " replied the peasant. 

" Not for a fair lady's hand and a great fort- 
une ?" said the prince. 

" Not for all the world ! " was the answer. 

The prince, who was rightful heir to the throne, 
grew every day in the favor of the people, and at 
last he found himself at the head of an army, 
while the bad king was more and more detested. A 
battle was fought, the usurper's forces were routed, 
and he was afterward slain. The prince, who so 
lately fled for his life, was now proclaimed king. 

He at once set about reforming abuses, and mak- 
ing wise laws for his kingdom. He established a 
society devoted to the encouragement of science 
and art. He gave prizes for the best literary com- 
positions (for these people had a sort of picture- 
writing), and he was himself a poet, like King David. 




His poems, some of which have been preserved 
and translated, were generally of a religious char- 
acter. His favorite themes were the vanity of 
human greatness, praise of the Unknown God, and 
the blessings of the future life for such as do good 
in this. The Tezcucans, like the Aztecs, were 
idolators, who indulged in the horrid rites of 
human sacrifice to their awful deities ; but this 
wise and good king detested such things, and en- 
deavored to wean his people from them, declaring, 
like David, that, above all idols, and over all men, 
ruled an unseen Spirit, who was the one God. 

The king used to disguise himself, and go about 
among his people, in order to learn who were 
happy, how his laws were administered, and what 
was thought of his government. On one such oc- 
casion, he fell in with a boy gathering sticks in a 

" Why don't you go into yonder forest, where 
you will find plenty of wood ? " asked the disguised 

"Ah!" cried the boy, "that forest belongs to 
the king, and he would have me killed if I should 
take his wood ; for that is the law." 

"Is he so hard a man as that ?" 

"Aye, that he is, — a very hard man, indeed, who 
denies his people what God has given them ! " 

" It is a bad law," said the king; "and I advise 
you not to mind it. Come, there is no one here 
to see you ; go into the forest, and help yourself to 

" Not I ! " exclaimed the boy. 

" You are afraid some one will come and find 
you? But I will keep watch for you," urged the 

" Will you take the punishment in my place, if 
I chance to get caught ? No, no ! " cried the boy, 
shrewdly shaking his head, " I should risk my life 
if I took the king's wood." 

" But I tell you it will be no risk," said the king. 
" I will protect you; go and get some wood." 

Upon that the boy turned and looked him boldly 
in the face. 

"I believe you are a traitor," he cried, — "an 
enemy of the king ! or else you want to get me into 
trouble. But you can't. I know how to take care 
of myself; and I shall show respect to the laws, 
though they are bad." 

The boy went on gathering sticks, and in the 
evening went home with his load of fuel. 

The next day, his parents were astonished to re- 
ceive a summons to appear with their son before the 

king. As they went tremblingly into his pres- 
ence, the boy recognized the man with whom he 
had talked the day before, and he turned deadly 

" If that be the king," he said, " then we are no 
better than dead folks, all ! " 

But the king descended from his throne, and 
smilingly said : 

" Come here, my son ! Come here, good peo- 
ple both ! Fear nothing. I met this lad in the 
fields yesterday, and tried to persuade him to dis- 
obey the law. But I found him proof against all 
temptation. So I sent for you, good people, to tell 
you what a true and honest son you have, and that 
the law is to be changed, so that poor people can 
go anywhere into the king's forests, and gather the 
wood they find on the ground." 

He then dismissed the lad and his parents with 
handsome presents, which made them rich for the 
remainder of their lives. 

A descendant of this king, who many years after 
wrote in Spanish a history of his reign,* has related 
many other interesting anecdotes of him. These 
are not all to his credit, and he certainly was not 
a perfect prince. The following anecdote, however, 
narrated by the writer I have mentioned, makes us 
think of another incident in the history of King 
David : 

Once, seeing a beautiful maiden, Neza-hual-coyotl 
fell violently in love with her, and asked who she 
was. He learned that she was of high rank, and be- 
trothed to a lord of the country, at whose house 
he had seen her. He immediately ordered the 
destined husband to be given the command of an 
army, and to be sent on a warlike expedition. At 
the same time he secretly told two Tezcucan chiefs 
to manage that the general should be brought 
into the thickest of the fight. Everything hap- 
pened as he wished, and his rival — like Uriah in 
the front of the battle — was slain. The king after- 
ward wooed the maiden, who, unaware of his base 
conduct, became his wife. 

This one great crime leaves a blot upon his char- 
acter and darkens his memory. But living as he 
did in an age filled with all kinds of cruelty and 
superstition, this monarch of a half-civilized race 
displayed some virtues that were rare enough in 
those days. And while our boys and girls are 
taught to read the histories of many an Old- World 
prince and monarch far more barbarous than he, 
they need not neglect the story of the Indian king 
Neza-hual-coyotl, our American King David. 

* See Prescott's " Conquest of Mexico," Book I, Chapter vi. 






By Maurice Thompson. 

When I was about fifteen years of age and my 
brother somewhat younger, we one day had the 
good luck to discover in our wild-wood rambles, 
an otter slide. 

What is an otter slide? It is a smooth place, 
like a path, made down a steep bank of a river, by 
means of which the otter slides from the top of the 
bank down into the water. The otter everywhere 
is a great coaster, and often goes sliding down 
muddy or icy slopes, for no other reason that I 
know of than simply because he likes the sport. 
But it sometimes proves very unlucky fun, for 
hunters set their traps just at the bottom, and the 
otter slides quietly into a prison, almost without 
knowing it. If you have never seen an otter- 1 
would say to you that it is an animal whose 

appearance is about half-way between that of a 
musk-rat and that of a beaver. It is sometimes 
four and a half feet long, from the nose to the 
end of the tail, but, of this length, the tail meas- 
ures eighteen inches or so. The otter has very 
small bright eyes, a long neck, short, fat legs, 
webbed feet, and a tail round above but flat be- 
neath. Its fur is brown and soft and sometimes quite 
valuable, and is used extensively for caps and gloves. 

The slide of which I have spoken was on the 
south bank of the Saliquoy, a little river of North 
Georgia, at a point where the high bluffs which 
overhang the stream are thickly fringed with 
dwarf cedar-trees. 

My brother and I were hunting among these 
cedars for a tree which would make good bow 




staves, and had clambered somewhat down the 
almost perpendicular wall of the bluff on the north 
bank, when, glancing across the stream, we both 
saw the otter go rapidly down its slide into the 

We looked at each other quickly, our faces all 
aglow with delight and surprise. 

" Was n't he a big one ? " said Will. 

"I should say so," said I. "We must try to 
get him. His pelt is worth having." 

" If I had only seen him before he moved," Will 
ruefully remarked, stringing his bow as he spoke 
and lifting an arrow from his quiver. 

But it was too late to think of shooting now, for 
the otter was under the water and in his hole long 

Perhaps you wonder how this animal could have 
its den under water. I will explain. The otter is 
what naturalists call an aquatic animal. Its princi- 
pal food is fish. So it digs a hole in a stream's 
bank below the water and runs it up till it finds a 
dry place for its bed. Sometimes it has two en- 
trances to this den, one under and one above the 
water. The otter is a great thief, always on the 
lookout to rob the traps and nets of fishermen. 
I myself have occasionally seen one swimming 
along with his head above water and in his mouth 
a big fish, just stolen from a net. 

No sooner had Will and I discovered the otter- 
slide, than we fell to laying plans for capturing 
the animal ; and the result of our talk was that we 
brought up our little canoe and anchored it under 
the bluff right opposite to the slide, and then 
proceeded to build a screen of cedar-brush, be- 
hind which we could hide and watch for our 
game. However, we determined not to be idle 
while waiting; so we took with us our Greek and 
Latin books, and made up our minds to study the 
lessons our teachers had set ; for, although we had 
plenty of time allowed us for hunting and fishing 
and wandering about the woods, we made it a 
habit to study during every moment we could spare 
from sport. 

' But the otter was an old, wise fellow who did not 
care to expose himself to arrows. We watched for 
him day after day, for hours at a time ; all in vain. 
No doubt this seems to you very poor pastime. 
So it would have been had we not brought our 
books with us. But nothing could be jollier than 
lying there in our canoe with the fragrant cedar- 
boughs above and the water under us, rocking 
gently with the motion of the waves, reading good 
stories or studying the Latin and Greek lessons, 
while any moment we might chance to get a shot 
at the otter. Sometimes a swift-flying duck would 
dart past us making its wings fairly whistle through 
the air. A big spotted water-snake often swam 

back and forth across the stream near us, and a 
huge turtle would crawl out of the water and lie on 
a bowlder to sun himself. The stream was well 
stocked with bass and other game fish, the former 
occasionally leaping clear above the surface of the 
water. Beautiful gay-winged dragon-flies sailed 
past us with a peculiar wavering motion, as if try- 
ing to imitate the flowing of the lazy ripples on the 

Once in a great while a mountaineer would 
paddle down the gentle current in his curiously 
carved pirogue, or, as he would call it, " dug-out," 
which is a canoe cut out of the bole of a large tree, 
usually, in that region, a tulip-tree. These mount- 
aineers were mostly poor, honest fellows who lived 
partly by hunting and partly by tending small 
farms in the little dells, or mountain " pockets," 
as they are called; and I believe that every one 
of them, that ever I saw, carried a long rifle with 
old-fashioned flint lock. 

We watched very diligently for the otter, and 
finally one evening we saw him come to the sur- 
face of the water and swim to the bank near his 
slide. The river, at this point, was about twenty- 
five yards wide. We each selected a keen-pointed 
arrow and prepared to shoot. You should have 
seen how strongly and steadily we drew our good 
bows ! When we let go our arrows, our strings 
went so nearly at the same instant that they made 
but one sound. " Whack," went our arrows, but 
not into the otter. We shot on each side of him. 
He was terribly frightened. He popped up on his 
hind legs and glared first at one arrow and then at 
the other. We hurried and shot again. My 
arrow fell short and Will's flew straight over the 
otter's head. He now seemed to come suddenly to 
himself, for he plunged into the water with a great 
splash and disappeared. We consoled ourselves 
with talking about how close we came to hitting 
him, and how we would be sure to do better next 
time, when we would not feel quite so flurried. 
But we saw him no more that day nor the next, 
though we watched with the greatest care. And, at 
last, in spite of all our hope and determination, we 
began to fear that we were doomed to a grievous 

One day, while we were lying at full length in 
our boat, an old hump-shouldered man in a miser- 
able, rotten-looking canoe, came down the river 
at a slow rate looking sharply about. He had a 
gun and a dozen or so of steel traps lying care- 
lessly in his boat, also two dead minks and three 
or four musk-rats. 

"Hello!" said he to us. "What ye doin' 
'ere ? " 

" Watching for an otter," said Will. 

" Where 's any otter ? " he asked. 




"Over there," replied Will, pointing to the slide. 

The old fellow squinted his eyes and looked 
across the river. 

" Ye-e-s," he drawled, " thar 's a slide, right 

He paddled over and examined the slide for a few 
minutes, but he did not say anything; 
and it was not long before he had 
pulled away out of sight down the 

We kept up our watch every day, 
feeling sure that if we could only have 
another shot at the otter he would 
be ours. But not another glimpse of 
him — not even a trace — did we get, 

"What upon airth are ye doin' thar?" he in- 
quired, his eyes twinkling under their bushy brows. 

" We are watching for our otter," said Will. 

"Our otter," muttered the old fellow, 'Wrotter! 
He, he, he, he 1 Mebbe it is your otter ; but you 
'11 never set them 'ere eyes onto your otter ag'in." 


One morning, the old trapper came along again. 

This time he had five minks. He stopped his 
skiff in the middle of the stream, and looked at us 
so queerly that we could not keep from smiling. 

"Why not?" said I, 
rather taken aback. 

" Kase I kotch that 
animal the very next 
night arter ye showed 
me the slide. He, he, 
he ! " 

Will and I looked at 
each other. We felt badly put out. 
We did not care to talk with the old 
man any more. He looked to us a good 
deal like a thief. He laughed all to 
himself in a quiet, satisfied way as he pad- 
dled on down the stream. 

"That pelt war wo'th six dollars," 
he muttered, "an' I was boun' to hev 
it, ye see." 

We took down our blind of cedar- 
boughs, drew up our little anchor, and 
paddled away, feeling too disappointed 
to talk much. 

But, after all, the old trapper no doubt 
needed the otter's skin much more than we did, 
and so it all turned out right. 

One thing was sure : we had made good progress 
with our Greek and Latin lessons, meanwhile. 





By Sargent Flint. 

OST certainly, Number One, 
Crawlin Place, was a din- 
gy abode at any time, but 
as Carol came in sight of 
it, one bright afternoon 
a few days before Christ- 
mas, with his mind full of 
much pleasanter places, he 
gave a little sigh of disap- 
proval, and muttered, not gloomily, but honestly, 
as if he had been called upon suddenly to compare 
it candidly with brighter places he had seen : 
" It looks meaner than ever ! " 
A ray from the sun as he looked up at No. I, 
seemed to contradict him, for it fell brightly upon 
a window in the fourth story and lighted it up 
wonderfully ; or was it the bright, deep-set eyes 
of old Aunt Kizzy, as she looked down and nodded 
cheerfully? However that may be, little Carol for- 
got that Crawlin Place was dingy as he darted up 
the old stairs. The faded face of Aunt Kizzy, her 
bright eyes and worn wig, were a part of his home ; 
and when Christmas is near, home is dearer than 
any other place in the world, if it is dingy. Be- 
sides, Carol — but let him tell his own secrets. 

"Darn up the old stocking I saw dangling on the 
line, Aunt Kizzy," he cried, as he came breath- 
lessly up to the window where the old lady sat. 

"I'll make it strong enough to hold up two 
cents' worth of snuff," she said, cheerily. 

" I feel sure this will be a lucky Christmas," said 
Carol. " I saw three stars shoot last night — a star 
apiece for us, Aunt Kizzy. Now quick, — before 
mother comes, — count that, please ! " 

" Massy ! massy ! Where did you get it, 
child ? " as the coppers and bits of silver fell into 

her lap. " You aint " 

"All right, Aunt Kizzy. Good, honest money. 
For mother's present. You go buy it, for I must 
get more or there can't be any snuff." 

She caught, him by his worn jacket as he was 
flying past the door, and sat him down in the old 

" Sit there, sir, and tell me where you got this 
money ! A Christmas present ought to be bought 
with money that don't need washing." 
" I wont tell." 

Aunt Kizzy's back became very stiff and she 
handed him back the money. 

"It's all right," he said, impatiently, waving 
away her extended hand. "But if you must 

know," dropping his voice to a mysterious whisper, 
' ' 7" sang for it ! " 

"Where, child?" 

"In the street." 

" Like a beggar? " 

" No, not quite. I did n't ask for money ; they 
gave it to me." 

"What did you sing, you scamp, you ? " said 
Aunt Kizzy, forgetting her point in her curiosity. 

" I sang every song I knew — even the one you 
sang to me the other night." 

" Where ? Anywhere about here ? " 

" No; away up-town where the big folks live." 

"Don't you do it again." 

" I have promised Santa Claus two cents' worth 
of snuff for an old lady who hangs up black 

"She can't have it." 

" She must." 

Aunt Kizzy dropped the money slowly, piece by 
piece, into her lap. 

" Seventy cents, Carol ! " 

" Get anything you feel sure she '11 like," he 
whispered in her ear, and darted away. 

" Seventy cents ! Well, well, well 1 may be 
you 're not ashamed of your want o' faith, old Kizzy 
Hopkins ! No good comes o' twitting, so I '11 only 
say, faith 's a good thing always. Now step along, 
and see what you can buy. Seventy cents ! And 
ten away down in your pocket for him, that he 
could n't see. No, you can't get much for ten 
cents, but start out and do your best. Straighten 
your wig, old Kizzy ; count up your change and 
don't go out with envious feelings in your heart be- 
cause other old women carry heavier purses ! Sev- 
enty cents and ten is eighty ; eighty cents aint to 
be sneezed at. Did n't you expect to have to start 
out with only ten ? You know you did ! Then 
why not look a little cheerful? " 

This remark was evidently addressed to the 
faded, patient face that looked out at her from the 
small looking-glass. But Carol's mother heard. 

"Don't dare find fault with that woman in the 
glass ! " said she, coming in and smoothing the 
rusty black ribbon on the worn-out bonnet. 

" She 's orful ungrateful, Car'line. Instead of 
bein' thankful for a bonnet to cover her old wig, 
she 's wishing for a veil to hide her old bon- 

"The more people have, the more they want, 
Aunt Kizzy. But where are you going ? " 




" After Christmas presents," said Aunt Kizzy, 
proudly. " Good-bye ! " 

"There is a dear, strong heart under that old 
shawl," said Caroline, as Aunt Kizzy turned the 
dismal corner. 

" Only ten cents for both of 'em," muttered the 
old woman, as she left the narrow street. "That 
boy is off trying to get something for me. Aint 
you ashamed of yourself, Kizzy H ? " she contin- 
ued, falling into her favorite mode of addressing 
herself, which she called giving a dose to her pride. 
" Think of the times you might have earned a 
little, if you had n't been so proud ! " 

" I would do anything now," she forced her pride 
to say. 

" No doubt you would," she returned, severely. 
" Come in at the 'leventh hour and take what 
you could find." 

" I would do anything in the world that I could 
that was honest," said her pride, humbled now to 
the very dust of self-reproach. 

" Would you sing for money ? " 

Aunt Kizzy said this abruptly, almost trium- 
phantly, as if she had proved her pride now, and 
found it nothing but a vain boaster. A little red 
spot was burning in each faded cheek. 

She had left Crawlin Place far behind her. The 
houses she now saw were beginning to wear a very 
well-to-do look. On she walked until the streets 
grew wide and the houses very fine. 

What a contrast to Crawlin Place ! 

" If you get envious, back you '11 go, Kizzy H., 
without a chance for present-money ! " 

This was probably addressed to another weak 
spot in poor Aunt Kizzy's make-up. 

She went on without an idea where to stop. A 
house with the curtains up attracted her attention. 

"Massy !" she exclaimed, as she looked in the 
window. " They must be made of gold and sil- 
ver in there ! " 

She walked up the steps and rang the bell. 

"If you please, miss," she began, as the door 

" Back gate for beggars," said the servant, 

With a choking feeling in her throat, Aunt 
Kizzy stood staring at the closed door. 

"You can't stare money enough out of a shut 
door to fill a stocking, unless a miracle takes place, 
Kizzy H," she said cheerfully, as she went down 
the grand steps. 

House after house was passed before another 
struck her fancy. 

" Don't look quite so grand as t' other," she 
said, as she looked in at a window. " There 's a 
picter o' Christ blessing little children. It makes 
me feel orful old. Dear little creeters ! I don't 

believe the grand brass images and flumjacks 
have pushed everything good out of this place." 

And she went up the high steps. As her hand 
touched the bell, a light step was heard behind 
her, and a pleasant voice said : "Whom did you 
wish to see ? " 

"I came," — Aunt Kizzy's voice was a little 
unsteady, — " I — I came to ask if any of the ladies 
here would — would like to hear a little old-fash- 
ioned singing." 

" I certainly should," said the young lady, 
pleasantly; "and I 'm sure grandmamma would." 

"Open your eyes and take in all the style, old 
Kiz, to tell Car'line," said the old woman to her- 
self, as they walked up the broad handsome stairs. 
But when she found herself actually standing 
before a sofa, where lay a proud-looking old lady, 
she forgot " Car'line," and almost her errand. 

" She is going to sing us some old-fashioned 
music," explained the young lady, as her grand- 
mother stared at them both. 

Aunt Kizzy closed her old hands nervously 
together, but though she pressed them very hard, 
no song came to her mind. What would they 
think of her ! Her breath came in little gasps, 
and the red spots brightened in her cheeks. 

" Sit down and rest yourself a little while," said 
the young lady, kindly. " I brought you up too 
many stairs for you to sing right away." 

"There was n't so many stairs, miss, as there 's 
been years since I sung afore folks," said Aunt 
Kizzy, then adding mentally, "Don't act like a fool 
if you 've got common sense, Kizzy H. ! " 

She stood respectfully before them, and in a 
voice, not by any means to be despised, sang a 
simple ballad of " ye olden time." 

"Can you sing another?" asked the young 
lady, as the last note died away. 

"I don't wish another yet," said her grand- 
mother. " I want the same again." 

Aunt Kizzy's heart beat joyfully. She had for- 
gotten money ; there was happiness in the thought 
of being able to give pleasure. She sang until her 
old voice sounded weary, and they declared she 
should sing no more. The young lady gave her a 

"Too much," said Aunt Kizzy, firmly. "I 
sang ten songs, and two cents apiece is high 
enough to reckon 'em." 

" A dollar for a good concert is cheap enough, 
and I have not enjoyed one so much for many a 
day, madam." 

"If you insist on it, I can't help it," said Aunt 
Kizzy, with shining eyes, as she thought of Carol's 

" I do not consider that I half pay for my pleas- 
ure," said the young lady's grandmother, as with 




old-school dignity she placed five dollars in Aunt 
Kizzy's hand. 

" I could n't sleep to-night if I took that ! " she 
cried. " Don't make me think I 'm dreaming now, 
and '11 wake up without a cent for Carol's stockin'." 

She held out the money to the young lady, who 
took it, saying: 

" You shall not be overpaid, but let me give you 
a muff; your hands will be cold going home. 
This is an old one, but it is warm, and here are 
some pieces of silk for a new lining." 

" Tell me all about it ! " cried Carol, on Christ- 
mas morning as he stood with a full stocking by 
the fire-place in the little sitting-room on the fourth 
story of Number One, Crawlin Place. 

" I wont." 

" Sit right there, Aunt Kizzy, till you tell me 
where you got so much money. ' A Christmas 
present ought to be bought with money that don't 
need washing ! ' " 

"Well," in a whisper, "if you must know, boy, 
/ sang for it." 

"Sang for it!" Carol's surprise was as genuine 
as Aunt Kizzy's had been, but he recovered him- 
self and said : " Like a beggar ? " 

"No," said Aunt Kizzy, demurely. "I didn't 
ask for money ; they gave it to me without." 

" Dear Aunt Kizzy, don't you call this a lucky 
Christmas ? " said Carol, as he pulled on new 
boots, while Aunt Kizzy, with a new bonnet on, 
took snuff extravagantly, and his mother stood 
with her hands in the muff. 

" Nothin' to do with luck," said Aunt Kizzy. 
" We worked for something and 't aint sense to 
expect when you work for something that you '11 
get n-othin'." With a merry jerk she pulled out 
a pair of warm gloves from the long black stock- 
ing. " Cast your bread upon the waters, old Kizzy 
H. Give Car'line an old muff, and get new gloves 
from Santa Claus ! " 

" I shall not allow you to give me this muff," 
said Car'line. " It is just what you have wanted 
for so long ; and a new lining will make it just as 
good as ever." 

" Massy, Car'line ! the silk for it is in my 
pocket. Plenty of it you see." As she unrolled 
it, she gasped: "Carol, hand me the campfire 
bottle ! " for, carefully folded in the little bundle 
of pieces, lay the rejected five-dollar bill. 

" It must be a mistake," said Carol's mother. 

" Of course I shall take it back, Car'line." 

" If it makes you feel so sick, Aunt Kizzy H., 
I will take it, and you shall never see it again," 
said Carol, kindly. 

" It was n't a mistake, though, Car'line." 

" What makes you think so?" 

" Well, I tell you how it was ; I did something 
for — for two ladies away up town, and they offered 
me that bill, and I would n't lay a finger to it, and 
that pretty creeter put it in the silk ; but I '11 take 
it back, I '11 take it back ! " 

"Come now, Aunt Kizzy," said Carol, laugh- 
ing, " bet you can't tell what street it was." 

" Hey ? " said the old woman with a blank ex- 
pression on her pale face. " Massy, if I know 
any more than a old woman led by a dog !" 

Carol's mother touched Aunt Kizzy's arm. 

" Tell me, Aunt, how you earned the money." 

" I did what Carol did." 

"What did he do?" 

" There 's your stockin' just burstin' to see you, 
Car'line. Why don't you go 'tend to it ? " 

" You care more for the stocking than for me, 
Aunt Kizzy, for I am in almost as sad a state." 

"Would you tell, Carol?" 

He grinned and said : 

" Make her tell first how she got hers." 

" I 'd just as soon tell," said his mother. "I 
wish I had the chance every day. I sang for it." 

For a full minute, Aunt Kizzy and Carol stared 
at each other, and then exclaimed as if they 
had but one mind between them: "Like a 
beggar ? " 

" Oh no," said Caroline, laughing. " I did n't 
ask for anything, but they gave me something. I 
sang last Sunday in church." 

" Carol," whispered Aunt Kizzy, "is my head 
on ? " 

' ' Looks to be. Is mine ? " 

" You have something on that looks like a head. 
Is my wig straight ? " 

" Straight as usual, Miss Hopkins. How 's 
mine ? " 

"'Pears to have the right pitch, boy, so let's 
tune up. Here 's faith for the future forever ! " and 
three grateful voices rang out clearly with a song 
of praise to Him, who, in sending His Christmas 
blessings down, forgot not even so humble a spot 
as Number On>_, Crawlin Place. 





By M. K. B. 

Four little sunbeams came earthward one day, 
Shining and dancing along on their way, 

Resolved that their course should be blest. 
" Let us try," they all whispered, "some kindness to do, 
Not seek our own pleasuring all the day through, 

Then meet in the eve at the west." 

One sunbeam ran in at a low cottage door 

And played "hide-and-seek" with a child on the floor, 

Till baby laughed loud in his glee, 
And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright, 
The little hands grasping in vain for the light 

That ever before them would flee. 

One crept to the couch where an invalid lay, 

And brought him a dream of the sweet summer day, 

Its bird-song and beauty and bloom; 
Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest, 
And in fancy he roamed through the scenes he loved best, 

Far away from the dim, darkened room. 




One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad, 
And loved and caressed her until she was glad 

And lifted her white face again. 
For love brings content to the lowliest lot, 
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot, 

And lightens all labor and pain. 

And one, where a little blind girl sat alone 
Not sharing the mirth of her play-fellows, shone 

On hands that were folded and pale, 
And kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight, 
That never would gaze on the beautiful light 

Till angels had lifted the veil. 

At last, when the shadows of evening were falling, 

And the sun, their great father, his children was calling, 

Four sunbeams sped into the west. 
All said : " We have found that in seeking the pleasure 
Of others, we fill to the full our own measure," — 

Then softly they sank to their rest. 

l8 7 9-l 


II 9 


By J. Esten Cooke. 

There was once upon a time a young man 
named Paul, who lived in an old city on the Rhine. 
Paul was the son of a laborer, and had learned the 
trade of a stone-mason ; but at odd times he read 
all the books he could lay his hands on, until at 
last he knew all about working in wood and marble, 
and his neighbors would point after him and say 
with a laugh, "There goes Paul, the master work- 
man ! " 

Paul saw that their laughter was good-natured ; 
but, for all that, they were laughing at him, and he 
longed to show them that he really was a master 
of his business. He had another reason also for 
getting on in the world if he could. He was very 
much in love with a young girl named Phenie ; but 
her parents were well to do, and would not hear 
of her marrying a poor laborer. So Paul resolved 
to take the first opportunity to show his skill; and 
one day, when he heard that a great church in the 
Lombardic style was to be built in his native town, 
he thought, "Oh ! if I could only be employed, I 
would build the church, and that would make my 
fortune ! " But he was too poor. People were 
beginning to have a high opinion of him by this 
time, and might be willing to intrust the work to 
him, perhaps ; but how could he pay the workmen 
from week to week as the building went on ? Paul 
was sitting in his poor garret one night, by the 
light of a single candle, thinking over these mat- 
ters in a mournful way, when suddenly he heard a 
low voice, like the tinkling of a small bell, say : 

" What 's the matter, Paul ? " 

Paul started and looked up, for his eyes had 
been fixed sadly upon the floor. 

" Here I am ; don't you see me ? " said the tink- 
ling voice. And there, sitting cross-legged on the 
top of the old rusty extinguisher of the candlestick, 
was a small odd-looking figure of an old man, with 
long hair and a wide, laughing mouth, with a purple 
cloak falling from his shoulders, a tall, peaked hat 
on his head, and shoes with high red heels. 

"Who — who are you?" Paul stammered in great 

" I am the King of the Goblins," said the small 
figure, "and I have come to help you. Do you 
remember the Elm-tree Quarry, where the work- 
men were hewing out rocks one day, and how you 
showed them a better quarry, and they went away ? 
Well, my royal palace was behind the Elm-tree 
Quarry in the mountain, and you prevented it from 

being discovered. So I 'm your friend, Paul. You 
shall build the great Lombardic church." 

Paul started with delight. 

" And you shall marry Phenie." 

"Oh! your Royal Highness!" exclaimed the 
young man. 

" I mean what I say," continued the King of the 
Goblins, winking his eyes several times, which 
seemed to be a habit with him. " I know all about 
you, Paul ; you have plenty of brains, but no 
money, like many other people I have known. 
Send to the burgomasters your application for build- 
ing the church, and get together your workmen. 
It 's all right ; and be sure to engage old Marmorel 
the sculptor to do the fine carving in stone." 

" Marmorel, your Highness ! Why, Marmorel 
has stopped work ; he has lost his right arm ! " 

"Don't be a fool, Paul," said the Goblin, "but 
do as I direct." 

"Yes, — oh yes, — I will, your Highness!" ex- 
claimed poor Paul, lost in wonder. 

" And now for the gold to pay your workmen, 
Paul. Here is a purse which you need n't be afraid 
of emptying. As soon as you get to the bottom 
of it, it will be full again." 

"Full again, your Highness?" Paul exclaimed. 

" Don't be bandying words with me, young 
man ! " said the King of the Goblins, with lofty 
dignity. "Obey my orders, and all will go well. 
Send in your paper to the burgomasters early to- 
morrow, and engage your workmen, particularly 
old Marmorel." 

"Oh yes, — certainly, — at once, — immediately, 
your Highness ! " Paul cried. 

"That is well," said the Goblin. "And now, 
good-night ; I have business to attend to before 

Having said this in his little tinkling voice, the 
goblin slid down from the extinguisher, and placing 
his heels together, made Paul a polite bow. He 
then bounded from the table, lit upon the floor, 
and walked on his high red heels out of the room. 


On the very next morning, Paul sent in his ap- 
plication to the burgomasters in fear and trembling; 
but, to his great astonishment, they at once sent 
for him, and after asking him a few questions, and 
looking over his plans again, they told him that they 
had made up their minds to close the bargain with 
him for building their great Lombardic church. 




Paul knew very well that this was the work of 

the King of the Goblins. He rushed out of the 

burgomasters' room and hurried off to collect his 

workmen. They came at his call, for 

everybody liked the young man and 

had confidence in him; and very 

soon the foundation for the 

church was dug and the walls 

began to rise. 

Nobody had ever seen 
work go on so quick- 
ly. The workmen 
ready and will- 
g|& Paul paid 

ly every 
^ .. magic 


them prompt- 
week from his 
purse, which was 
of gold again as soon 
as it was emptied; 
and no sooner was 
a pickax lifted, than 
a thousand arms 
seemed to hurl it in- 
to the earth. The 
shovelfuls of dirt 
were thrown hun- 
dreds of feet away, 
the large blocks of 
stone leaped to their 
places, and Phenie, 
the young girl Paul 
loved so dearly, 
would often come 
and visit him whilst 
he was overlooking 
his workmen. At 
these times, Paul 
would perhaps feel 
something pulling at 
the skirts of his coat. 
He knew it was the 
King of the Goblins, 
and he would hold 
his hand out, and 
then a pair of small 
feet would light in 
it, and a burst of gob- 
lin laughter would 
be heard. 

"Oh! what is that, Paul?" Phenie would ex- 
claim. " Oh, me ! something is tangled in my 

She did not know it was only the goblin smooth- 
ing her curls. 

At last the church was ready for the ornamental 
work, and old Marmorel, the one-armed carver, 
came and said, stroking his long white beard: 

" Master Paul, you have sent for me to do the 
fine stone-carving on the front of your church, but 
how can I ? It 's many a long day since I handled 
a chisel. My good right arm is gone, master." 

Paul heard a low tinkling voice at his ear, which 
said : 

" Tell him there 's nothing like trying, Paul." 
"Marmorel," said the young man, "did you 
ever hear the saying, 'There 's nothing like try- 
ing?' A chisel for the master stone-cutter !" he 
said to one of the workmen. It was brought and 
handed to old Marmorel, who laughed as he placed 
the edge of it against the marble. He had no 
sooner done so than a smart blow was struck on 
the wooden handle, and the splinters dashed from 
the stone on all sides. 

"Come, old Marmorel!" Paul said, laughing, 
" You strike well with the arm you have lost ! To 
work, Marmorel ! " 

Paul then walked away from the astonished old 
stone-cutter, but all at once he found him- 
self face to face with a crowd of his work- 
men who had thrown down their tools 
and were coming toward him with 
loud murmurings. 

"What is the meaning of this?" 


muttered Paul to himself, and feeling as if some- 
thing was about to happen that would ruin him. 

" The meaning is," said a low voice at his ear, 
" that the rascals are coming to complain of me ! " 

By this time, the workmen were close to him, 
and Paul said to the foremost of them : 

" Well, Hans, what is the matter ? Why do the 
men stop work before the hour ? " 




'" They are frightened, master," said 
Hans, in a terrified voice; "something's 
wrong here." 

" Something wrong ! " 
"The stones are jumping about like 
mad, master," said Hans. " They are 
bewitched and turn somersaults before 
our very eyes ! " 

" Nonsense, Hans," said Paul. 
" Tell him he is a fool, Paul," said the 
tinkling voice. 

"And the men going up the ladders 
with the mortar," Hans went on, " say 
something pushes them and voices scream 
in their ears, ' Faster ! faster ! ' " 

"It was I!" whispered the small voice 
nearly smothered in laughter. 

"It's true, master," said Hans, "and 
the burgomasters have heard the report, 
and come to see about it. They sent me 
to summon you to their presence." 

Paul's heart sank at these words, and 
he said : 

" Where are they, Hans ?" 
" On top of the church, master, where 
the great scaffolding is." 

"Fear nothing, Paul," the voice said; 
" go and face them. I will be there." 

So Paul, in fear and trembling, went up 
the ladder and stood in presence of the 
fat old burgomasters. As soon as he ap- 
peared before them, the biggest and round- 
est pulled down his waistcoat, cleared his 
throat, stepped grandly forward, and thus 
addressed him : 

" Sir, we have come to investigate the 
strange reports in regard to the manner 
in which, — that is, the method adopted in 
the — construction and erection of this 
large and intelligent building which — hem 
■ — I see before me ! " 

Here the speaker puffed out his cheeks 
and awaited Paul's reply. 

" Shall I throw that puffy old fellow 
down the ladder, Paul ? " said a voice at 
his ear. 

" Oh, no ! no ! Your Highness ! you 
would ruin me ! " exclaimed the young 

" I am glad to see you are aware, sir," 
said the fat burgomaster, " of the respect 
due to me, as you address me as ' Your 
Highness ' — very proper, sir ; very proper ! " 
Paul bowed and said : 
"I hope, and feel sure, the gentlemen 
burgomasters will not believe all they 

hear. These gossiping reports are " 

Vol. VII.— 9 . 





" ' Gossiping reports,' sir? Look at that trowel, 
sir ! " 

Paul turned round quickly and saw the silver 
trowel of the head mason quietly mortaring the 
stones without help from the workman. 

"Your Highness!" murmured Paul to the in- 
visible King of the Goblins, " if you desert me 
now, I am lost ! " 

" Never fear, Paul," said the voice. 

"Do you see, sir?" cried the fat burgomaster, 
starting back as he spoke; "do you behold the 
extraordinary and highly improper and unbecom- 
ing conduct of that trowel, sir ? " 

Suddenly, the fat burgomaster jumped backward 
and nearly fell from the scaffolding. The silver 
trowel had leaped down, and, standing on its point, 
made him a low and respectful bow. It then rose 

the ladder, down which he hastened, followed by 
the rest. 

" That's the end of me ! " Paul exclaimed. 

"You are a goose!" said the voice. "Make 
the men a speech and tell them to go back to- 

Paul obeyed, and made the workmen a short 
speech ; and they were so fond of him that they 
once more went to work. 

" If the old fellows come to trouble you again, 
Paul, I '11 fix 'em ! " said the tinkling voice. "Cour- 
age, Paul; you shall marry Phenie yet!" 

Paul took heart at this, and pushed the work 
on the church so ardently, that soon the whole was 
done excepting the top of the great spire. It was 


erect again, and bowed in turn to all present, after 
which it began to spin round on its point in a 
waltz. Never did anybody see a merrier or quicker 
waltz. The trowel spun so rapidly that you could 
hardly see it, and inch by inch it drew near the 
spot where the burgomasters were standing. 

"Oh, Your Highness, I'm ruined ! "Paul groaned. 

"Hush your nonsense, Paul!" said the laugh- 
ing voice. 

" But look, Your Highness ! " 

The fat burgomaster was rushing in terror toward 

the most beautiful building that men's eyes ever 
rested upon. Old Marmorel and the goblins had 
cut the hard marble into delicate vines and flow- 
ers, like fine lace, and Paul and Phenie were 
standing on the roof in the red sunset, looking with 
delight on the towering spire. 

Suddenly, steps were heard, and Paul looked 
round and saw the burgomasters approaching. Irk 
front was the fat old fellow who did the speakings 
and he said to Paul : 

"Ahem, sir ! — ahem, sir ! Unaccustomed as I am, 

l8 79 .J 



sir, to public speaking, — ahem, sir! — I must beg leave to say, sir — to 
your attention to the fact that those windows are botched, sir ! 
look at those doors ! They are too low — no, they are too high, 
stone work is intensely, — I may say, —excessively and intol- 
sir ! Then, considering the means, sir, you have em- 
the construction and erection of this building, sir, — 
and highly improper, and extraordinary behavior of 

"I mean to do for that old hunks, Paul ! " a 

At the same moment, a wheelbarrow, which 
lifted its feet and ran straight at the fat old 
his legs, he dropped into it, with his legs 
the wheelbarrow ran down the ladder 
followed, and soon were running after 
through the streets of the town 
the magical wheelbarrow drew 




sir ! The 

erably bad, 

ployed, sir, in 

the unbecoming, 

that trowel, sir " 

tinkling voice said. 

.- - had been standing near, 

burgomaster. It struck 

flying into the air, and then 

with the burgomaster. The rest 

puffing and red in the face, 

lawyers looking wise as they 
wiser and flourishing their 
rich by selling out at cost, 
limping on sound legs, 
hind came people in 
even the rats, were 
diers, with a band 
rumbling and 
brought up the 

The wheel 
it stopped 

toward the mountains. As it ran, 
''. everybody, and they ran after it, — the 
strutted to court, the doctors looking 
gold-headed canes, the merchants, fat and 
the ladies rustling their finery, the beggars 
— all followed the magical wheelbarrow. Be- 
carriages and on horseback. Dogs and cats, and 
galloping on like the rest; and a company of sol- 
of music, broke ranks and followed, with the drums 
the trumpets blowing ; and a lonely tortoise slowly 
rear. Never was such a sight seen by human eyes before ! 
barrow ran on and the crowd ran after it until night, when 
before the Elm-tree Quarry in the mountain. It stopped so 
ly that the fat old burgomaster was sent flying out, with his 
kicking; and then the wheelbarrow rose straight up and made 
bow to everybody, after which it ran into the mountain and disappeared. 


The people stared, rubbed their eyes, and went home without a word. On the next morning, when 
they met their neighbors, they laughed and jested about the odd dream they had had, — all about a 
magical wheelbarrow, and running after it to the mountain. Even the fat old burgomaster laughed 
heartily at the idea that he could really have been carried off in that way in a wheelbarrow ; and, 
being in a very good humor, he went to look at the church. 

. The vast building was finished ! and Paul and Phenie were again standing together upon the great 
roof. Seeing them there, the old burgomaster went up to them and shook hands with Paul. 




" Why, bless my soul ! what a grand spire that 
is, my young friend!" he exclaimed; '"and the 
windows and doors and stone work, — they are per- 
fection ! Sir, your work is a magnificent and last T 
ing and enduring, — an unparalleled and extraor- 
dinary triumph of the loftiest genius, sir! In the 
name of the respectable and enlightened city 
fathers, 1 beg, sir, to present you the freedom of 
your native city ! " 

Having conferred this high honor upon the 
young architect, the burgomaster made Paul a 
low bow and went down the ladder. 

As he did so, a voice said : 

" Kiss your bride, Paul ! " 

Paul caught young Phenie to his heart and kissed 
her, when the tinkling voice said : 

"You shall marry her in this very church, my 
good Paul. You are now rich and famous, and 
you see that the King of the Goblins has not 
broken his word to you." 

"Oh, thanks 1 thanks! how can I ever show 
my gratitude, Your Highness?" exclaimed Paul. 

" By living honestly and uprightly and doing 
your duty, Paul. Shake hands ! " 

Suddenly Phenie screamed and started back. 
There before them, on the roof of the church, was 
the King of the Goblins, with his queer peaked 
hat, his purple robe, and his high-heeled shoes. 
He reached up his small hand, and Paul and Phenie 
shook it, though the young girl was trembling with 

" Make Paul a good wife, Phenie," said the gob- 
lin, winking his eyes rapidly ; " and if you ever get 
into trouble, Paul, remember I'm your friend." 

He then placed his red heels together, made a 
low and polite bow, and, with his hands on his 
hips, walked quietly off the eaves of the church 
and vanished. 

Paul took the blushing young Phenie on his 
arm, and then they went home. They were soon 
afterward married in the great Lombardic church, 
and all the great people of the city came to the 
wedding. The young couple lived a very happy 
life, and Paul was successful in all his undertak- 
ings, becoming very rich and prosperous. He 
never got into trouble, however, as he was honest 
and upright ; and for that reason he never saw the 
King of the Goblins again. 

i • i It ■■ 






By Emma Bryan. 

ON'T imagine it was an actual sun- 
flower. "Sunflower" is my pet 
name for a lovely little girl of 
my acquaintance who has a great 
many sisters but only one brother. 
Going one day to visit her mam- 
ma, I was greeted with outcries 
of " Such news for you ! Aunt 
Maggie has come ! Aunt Maggie 
has come from California, and 
oh ! such lots of pretty things ! Come and see ! " 
When I had been almost dragged upstairs to 
Mamma's room, I beheld my precious " Sun- 
flower" standing alone in one corner waving a fan 
almost as large as herself. With the utmost dignity 
she waved me a salute, informing me that, when 
there was less noise, she would tell me " a sto-iuy 
about it." 

Alas for human plans ! the " less noise " time 
seemed very far away. What wonder the children 
were wild with excitement while all those beautiful 
things lay scattered about ! Such Chinese dolls, 
tiny shoes, delicate cups and saucers, carved frames, 
baskets and card-cases of ivory, such boxes, em- 
broidered dresses, kites and fire-works, all brought 
by Aunt Maggie from San Francisco ! The room 
looked like a Chinese museum, and every child 
seemed to think it her duty to explain the articles 
to me, as guest of the day. 

Meantime, Netty, my Sunflower, stood in silent 
indignation, merely looking from one to another, 

when they all informed me in a breath that the 
wonderful fan had been given to Netty by Aunt 
Maggie on condition that she should never play 
with it, but keep it until she should be a grown- 
up young lady. 

Fortunately, Aunt Maggie herself now appeared 
on the scene, and, finally, quiet was secured by 
that traveled lady consenting to tell once more the 
" whole, whole Story of the Fan, — every bit of it." 
The children settled themselves comfortably upon 
the trunks. Netty climbed to my lap, still holding 
the precious treasure outspread, so that I might 
look at it while the story went on, and Aunt 
Maggie began : 

" Once upon a time there were no silk dresses 
or ribbons in the whole world. Now, if you look 
at this fan you will see that all the figures have 
delicate porcelain faces, and are dressed in real 
silk dresses embroidered with gold thread. 

" More than three thousand years ago the Em- 
peror of China, whose queer name was Ho-ang-ti, 
received a visit from an old woman, who laid at 
his feet a great many small bundles, begging him 
to receive them from her granddaughter, who 
also had a queer name, — Su-ling-shi. 

" Ordering his Grand Chamberlain to open the 
bundles, there appeared to his astonished gaze the 
most beautiful fabrics ever seen. He sent for the 
ladies of his household, for there was a dress for 
each, and you can imagine their delight. Demand- 
ing of the old woman the secret of her prize, she 






gave this reply (first reverently naming several of 
the Emperor's many titles, as was the custom) : 

" ' Most Gracious Son of Heaven, Lord of the 
Earth, Light of the Empire, and King of the Golden 
Dragon, our Great Prophet Fo, says : " What is 
told in the ear is often heard a hundred miles off"; 
and also " Give not away that which is not thine 
own." The secret is not mine. The secret be- 
longeth to my daughter and granddaughter.' And 
here the grandmother (who was not such a very 
old woman, as women marry very young in China) 
bowed her head nine times to the earth. 

"The Emperor ordered a large sum of money to 
be presented to the woman, and with his own august 
hands gave her magnificent strings of pearls for her 
daughter and granddaughter. Also for the grand- 
daughter he gave a golden badge of honor, bidding 
the grandmother bring the maiden before the next 
new moon, for he must know her secret, and 
should her words be straight words, he would 
honor her as never lowly maid was honored before. 

" The heart of Su-ling-shi was filled with delight 
when she heard the words of her grandmother. 
Busily was her loom set to work that she might 
have a dress so magnificent for the occasion that 
the ' King of the Golden Dragon ' might find 
pleasure in beholding her. 

" The great day at length dawned, the heart of 
Su-ling-shi fluttered with fear and delight as — 
arrayed in dress of rose-pink silk and sky-blue tunic 
embroidered with gold, the pearls in her hair and 
golden badge upon her bosom — she approached 
with trembling footsteps his ' Fragrant Majesty,' 
whose subjects bend their foreheads to the ground, 
not daring to gaze upon him. 

"Look on the fan," said Aunt Maggie: "you 
will see the Great King of the Dragon seated upon 
a chair which bears the sign of the dragon, the 
symbol of the Chinese Empire. His robe, sent 
him by Su-ling-shi, is of royal yellow silk, with 
a golden sun upon his breast and a royal pea- 
cock's feather in his cap. 

"Next to him is the 'Grand Mandarin of the 
Household,' clothed in scarlet. The great Man- 
darin of War, General Hae-ling-ah, in scarlet robes 
and blue sash, stands with drawn sword to warn 
them that death is always the penalty of an un- 
truth before the great Emperor. 

"The grandmother, in dress of green silk with 
yellow collar, standing behind the general, ad- 
vanced first, and bowing nine times to the ground, 
said: 'Know, Most Mighty King, that in my gar- 
den grows a mulberry tree, upon which I ofttimes 
noticed a worm that spun a ball for a house in 
which to live. These balls I often took within my 
dwelling, and I found that in a little time a moth 
crept out from each and flew away. I amused 

La-See, my daughter, with the silken balls. This 
is all that I have done. " Siao te kin." It is very 
little. Let my daughter La-See speak.' 

" Then the mother, whom you see next with the 
royal pearls in her hair and pink silk dress, bowed 
nine times, saying: 'Most Gracious Ten Thou- 
sand Years, whilst amusing myself watching the 
caterpillar, I found that its house or cocoon would 
unwind, and I used it as thread with which to 
embroider the fine muslin," Woven Wind." After- 
ward, I taught my daughter to do the same. This, 
my Gracious King, is all that I have done. Let 
my daughter speak.' 

"Then came Su-ling-shi, and, after nine bows, 
she proudly raised her head and said : ' If His 
Most Gracious Majesty and Light of the Empire 
will deign to cast his eyes upon these insects, he 
will see they are but common moths, which I here 
let fly from my hand. I followed the example of 
my wise parents (may they live a thousand years !), 
and saw that it was this insect which laid the 
eggs upon the mulberry tree, and which afterward 
became the Bombye mori, or caterpillar. This fed 
upon the mulberry leaves thirty-two days, and, 
casting its skin four times, began to spin its cocoon, 
winding always the same way. My mother (may 
Fo bless her!) had learned to unwind the cocoon 
and had planted many trees. Thus it was, Most 
Mighty King, that I was enabled to gather many 
cocoons, and reeling the threads together, I 
hit upon the idea of weaving them. This, my 
Sovereign, is the cocoon, and in this roll you will 
find the result, — a piece of silk, which I hope may 
prove worthy of the acceptance of your Gracious 
Loftiness, to whom I surrender my knowledge.' 
And again she bowed her forehead to the ground. 

" ' Behold a maiden possessed of all the virtues,' 
said the Emperor. And then turning to her, he 
said : ' Rise, fair maid ; such wisdom, such in- 
dustry, and such beauty are worthy of an empire. 
Half my throne shall be thine.' And, taking the 
hand of the blushing Su-ling-shi, he seated her 
beside him. 

" ' My lords,' he continued, ' prepare for the 
bridal ceremony. Summon the ladies of the court, 
and henceforth know our mother as the Princess 
La-See, and our grandmother as the Princess Sang. 
Honor them as such, and let the whole land know 
our Dragon will ! ' 

"You will see on the fan," continued Aunt 
Maggie, "that the court ladies were not far off, 
and that their curiosity was great, for they were 
peeping. Of course, grandma congratulated her- 
self on her shrewdness in presenting the silk to the 
Emperor instead of selling it to a merchant. 

"The ingenious empress not only taught the 
ladies of her court how to raise the silk-worm, but 




brought vast sums of money into her husband's 
treasury by selling the secret to the weavers, and 
for many hundreds of years these Chinese weavers 
carefully guarded the secret which only they pos- 
sessed. At last a sly old European monk went to 
China, obtained the secret, and, stealing some 
cocoons, hid them in his hollow reed cane, and 
walked away, rejoicing all Europe by showing 
people how silk was made." 

Aunt Maggie ceased. The children drew a long 
breath, and slid down from the high trunks to 
resume their parts as little show-women of the other 
pretty things Aunt Maggie had brought from Cali- 
fornia. Netty, with glowing cheeks, looked on, still 
placidly waving the great fan and wondering how 
soon she would grow to be a real " young lady." 

The picture which St. Nicholas has made for 
you, and which is printed on page 125, is an exact 

copy, in pencil, of Netty's fan. The figures in this 
picture-copy had to be made very small, for the 
illustration to fit the magazine page, but, with 
a little careful study, you will be able to recognize 
the principal characters, especially as they are all 
to be found in the little central pavilion. Seated 
at the right side of it is the great Emperor, with 
a sun upon his breast, and before him, with a 
roll of silk in her hand, stands Su-ling-shi. The 
Mandarin of War, with drawn sword, stands beside 
her (in the very center of the fan), and at his left is 
the Grandmother, with her queer head-dress. Of 
course, the coloring could not be shown you, but 
if you will remember that the whole scene in the 
body of the fan is — in the fan itself — made up of 
many gorgeous and varied colors, and that the 
vanes of the fan are all gilded, you can easily 
imagine from this drawing what a beautiful present 
Aunt Maggie's was. 

There was an old man of Cathay ; 
When a peddler called round, he would say: 
" The price is quite low, 
And I 'd like it, you know — 
But I think I wont take it to-day." 








A LONG time ago, two hundred and seventeen 
years before Christ, there was a king of Egypt, 
Ptolemy the Fourth, who was returning, proud and 
victorious, from a war with his enemies. On his 
way home, he passed through Jerusalem ; and 
there, feeling that such a mighty conqueror had a 
right to go where he pleased, he endeavored to 
enter the most sacred precinct of the Jewish Tem- 
ple, — the "Holy of Holies." No one among his 
own people could prevail upon him to give up his 
rash plan; but in answer to a -prayer by the High- 
Priest of the Temple, who stood undismayed before 
him, this great king fell senseless to the ground. 

He did not try again to penetrate into this sacred 
place, but he became very much enraged against 
the Jewish people ; and, when he returned to Alex- 
andria, he ordered all the Jews in that city to give 
up their religion and to practice the heathenish 
rites of Egypt. Only a few Jews consented to do 
this ; nearly all of them boldly refused. Then the 
angry king commanded that all the Jews in the 
country around about, as well as those in the city, 
should be arrested and confined in the Hippodrome, 
or great circus, just outside of the town. 

When, after a good many failures and difficulties, 
this had at last been done, Ptolemy prepared to 
carry out his great and novel plan of vengeance. 
This was to have these poor people trampled to 
death by elephants. Such a performance in the 
circus would make a grand show for the heathen 
king and his heathen people. 

But it was not to be expected that elephants, 

who are good-natured creatures, would be willing 
to trample upon human beings unless they were 
in some way excited or enraged. Therefore, a 
great many elephants were drugged and intoxi- 
cated ; and, when they had thus been made wild 
and reckless, they were let loose in the great arena 
of the Hippodrome, where the trembling Jews were 
gathered together in groups, awaiting their fate. 

In rushed and stumbled the great monsters, and 
the Egyptian king and vast crowds of the Egyptian 
people sat in their seats to see what would happen 
to the Jews. 

But, suddenly, up rose Eleazer, an aged priest 
of the Jews; and, lifting his hands toward heaven, 
he prayed for deliverance. 

Then, all at once, the elephants stopped. They 
snorted and threw their trunks into the air, they 
ran backward and sidewise in wild confusion, and 
then they turned, and with savage cries and toss- 
ing trunks, they plunged over the low parapet 
around the arena, and ran trampling madly 
among the people who had come to see the show ! 

The scene was a terrible one, and the punish- 
ment of the Egyptians was very great. The king 
sat high above all, and out of danger; but he 
was struck with fear, and determined no longer to 
endeavor to punish a people who were so miracu- 
lously defended. When at last the elephants were 
driven back and this awful performance at the circus 
had come to an end, the king let the Jews go free. 
And this day of their wonderful deliverance was 
made an annual festival among them. 


By John Greenleaf Whittier. 

'Midst the men and things which 
Haunt an old man's memory still, 
Drollest, quaintest of them all, 
With a boy's laugh I recall 

Good old Abram Morrison. 


From the Beach to far beyond 
Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, 
Marvelous to our tough old stock, 
Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, 

Seemed the Celtic Morrison. 

When the Grist and Rolling Mill 
Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, 
And the old red school-house stood 
Midway in the Powow's flood, 

Here dwelt Abram Morrison. 

Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all 
Only knew the Yankee drawl, 
Never brogue was heard till when, 
Foremost of his countrymen, 

Hither came Friend Morrison ; 




Irish of the Irishes, 
Pope nor priest nor church were his ; 
Sober with his Quaker folks, 
Merry with his quiet jokes 

On week days was Morrison. 

Underneath his hat's broad brim 
Peered the queer old face of him; 
And with Irish jauntiness 
Swung the coat-tails of the dress 
Worn bv Abram Morrison. 

Half a genius, quick to plan 
As to blunder ; Irishman 
Rich in schemes, and, in the end, 
Spoiling what he could not mend, 
Such was Abram Morrison. 

Still, in memory, on his feet, 
Leaning o'er the old, high seat, 
Mingling with a solemn drone, 
Celtic accents all his own, 

Rises Abram Morrison. 

Back and forth to daily meals, 
Rode his cherished pig on wheels, 
And to all who came to see : 
" Aisier for the pig an' me, 

Sure it is," said Morrison. 

Don't," he 's pleading, — "don't ye go, 
Dear young friends, to sight and show; 
Don't run after elephants, 
Learned pigs and presidents 

And the likes ! " said Morrison. 

Careless-hearted, boy o'ergrown ! 
Jack of all trades, good at none, 
Shaping out with saw and lathe 
Ox-yoke, pudding-slice, or snath, 
Whistled Abram Morrison. 

On his well-worn theme intent, 
Simple, child-like, innocent, 
Heaven forgive the half-checked smile 
Of our careless boyhood, while 

Listening to Friend Morrison ! 

Well we loved the tales he told 
Of a country strange and old, 
Where the fairies danced till dawn ; 
And the goblin Leprecaun 

Looked, we thought, like Morrison. 

Once a soldier, blame him not 
That the Quaker he forgot, 
When, to think of battles won, 
And the red-coats on the run, 

Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. 

First was he to sing the praise 
Of the Powow's winding ways ; 
And our straggling village took 
City grandeur to the look 

Of its prophet Morrison. 

Dead and gone ! But while its track 
Powow keeps to Merrimack, 
While Po Hill is still on guard, 
Looking land and ocean ward, 

They shall tell of Morrison ! 

All his words have perished. Shame 
On the saddle-bags of Fame, 
That they bring not to our time 
One poor couplet of the rhyme 

Made by Abram Morrison ! 

After half a century's lapse, 
We are wiser now, perhaps, 
But we miss our streets- amid 
Something which the past has hid, 
Lost with Abram Morrison. 

When, on calm and fair First Days, 
Rattled down our one-horse chaise 
Through the blossomed apple-boughs 
To the Quaker meeting-house, 

There was Abram Morrison. 

Gone forever with the queer 
Characters of that old year ! 
Now the many are as one ; 
Broken is the mold that run 

Men like Abram Morrison. 

i8 7 9-l 




By Sarah Winter Kellogg. 

Kate was eleven ; 
Johnny was six ; Dora 
was " going on" five. 
It was nearly Christ- 
mas, and Kate had her 
mind set upon mak- 
ing Johnny a present. 
What should it be? 
Not slippers, for Aunt 
Mary had sent him a 
pretty pairon his birth- 
day, blue with a knot 
of pansies. Neither 
could the present be 
mittens, lest grandma 
might be offended ; for 
she could do little else 
but knit, and consid- 
ered it her right to 
keep the family hands 
and feet clothed. 

Johnny, being the 
only boy, slept in win- 
ter on a lounge in the 
■sitting-room, and this suggested to Kate the thing 
to make for him, — a cover for the lounge cushion. 
One afternoon, when the mother had gone to 
■stay with grandma, who was sick, Kate attempted 
a beginning. She brought the scrap-bag from the 
attic, and settled little Dora by the window to re- 
port Johnny's approach. He had gone to the 
baker's for a loaf of bread. Then she emptied the 
bag in the middle of the floor, and began picking 
•out the woolen pieces which would do to be put to- 
gether for the cover. She had set aside a scrap of 
yellow flannel, and a piece of Johnny's new pepper- 
and-salt suit, and was thinking about taking a third 
bit, — a blue merino, bright but moth-eaten, — when 
there was a cry from the sentinel at the window : 
" Johnny 's comi'n'! " 

Kate, in a panic, snatched up the pieces by great 
'handfuls, and crowded them back into the bag, ask- 
ing" if he was almost to the gate. She would n't 
"have little Johnny see even the thread and needle 
she was to make his present with ; it must be a 
-complete surprise to him. When the scraps were 
all in the bag, and the bag under the lounge, Dora 
said : 

"Why, no ; it is n't Johnny, it 's Aaron Bridges." 
" Well, I think it 's a pity," Kate said, " if you 

can't tell Johnny from Aaron Bridges, who is a head 
taller and has red hair." 

She dragged out the bag, and again emptied the 
pieces on the floor. 

" Anyhow, they both wear caps," said Dora de- 
fending herself. 

"Yes, they do, and alien and a gander both 
wear feathers," said Kate. 

"Oh yes, but," and Dora bobbed her head in 
triumph, " they aint both of them hens, and they 
aint both of them ganders." 

" Well, now," said Kate amused, " begin again ; 
keep a good lookout, and tell me if you see Johnny 
coming; but please, don't mistake every boy in 
town for him." 

" I 'd rather pick out the pieces; you watch for 
Johnny," said Dora. 

"That 's always the way with little girls; they 
never want to do what they can do. You 'd better 
stand up in the chair, and then you can see farther 
dosvn the street." 

So Dora mounted a chair, and turned her face 
to the window, looking very tall, and Kate went on 
turning over the scraps and added to Dora : 

"You must keep your eyes on the street. You 
must n't stop to watch me. Johnny might come 
while you 're watching me, and ruin everything." 

Dora returned to her sentinel watch, and imme- 
diately cried out that Johnny was coming. 

Kate seized the bag with one hand, and a heap of 
scraps with the other, and then ran to the window to 
see if Dora's report was true. 

" Where?" she asked. "Where is he?" 

"Right there," said Dora. " Don't you see his 
blue scarf? " 

" What a goose you are ! " cried Kate. " That 's 
crazy Polly Perkins. I should think you could tell 
that great tall crazy woman with a sun-bonnet from 
your own little boy brother." 

"Anyhow," said Dora, "you talk as if little 
brothers was sometimes girls." 

Kate laughed, and then said: " If you '11 keep a 
good watch, Dode, and tell me truly when Johnny's 
coming, I '11 make your doll a princess dress." 

"Well," Dora agreed, " I '11 look hard 's I can, 
and I '11 tell really-truly next time. " 

"Well, please, Dody, do." 

Dora turned her face street-ward, and Kate went 
back to examining the scrap-bag. She soon had a 
good pile of gay bits selected, but in the midst of 




her work, she heard on the walk the tramp, tramp 
of a boy's boots, coming around the house to the 
side door. 

"There he is!" cried Kate, starting and grab- 
bing the scraps, as she darted a swift glance at the 
faithless Dora, fast asleep, seated in her chair. 

Kate had just time to get all the pieces thor- 
oughly mixed and crowded back into the bag, 
when Johnny came stamping in. 

" I 'm so glad he did n't see the pieces," Kate 
thought, not realizing that no beginning was yet 
made toward the cushion-cover. The sitting-room 

der if he found it full of gold pieces. I wish things 
happened in sure-enough as in story-books; and I 
wish boys were as good out of books as in, and 
would go to bed at their bed-time." 

" I will go truly, as soon as I see if Philip found 
anything in his stocking," said Johnny, falling to 
on the story. "I '11 read as fast as I can." 

" And skip all the long words," said Kate. " See 
here : I '11 read to you after you get to bed." 

" All right," said Johnny, who 'd rather be read 
to than read, any day, or night either. 

He went into the next room, and undressed, and 


being the only one warmed, Kate could not take 
her Christmas work to another. 

" After Johnny goes to bed, I can work on it," 
she thought ; "he always goes early." 

But that night Johnny got interested in a story, 
and when his bed-time came, he teased Kate to let 
him read on a little farther. 

"It 's so nice," he pleaded; "about a poor 
little boy named Philip. He hung up his stocking 
Christmas night, and I want to see if he got any- 
thing in it." 

" Of course he did," said Kate. "In stories they 
always get their stockings filled. I shouldn't won- 

soon came back and lay on the lounge under cover, 
while Kate read rapidly about Philip and what he 
found in his stocking Christmas morning. 

"And that 's all," she said at length, closing the 
book; " and now go to sleep." 

They were quiet for a moment, when Johnny said : 

" Katie, don't you think it 's mean that Philip 
did n't get something in his stocking beside candy, 
— something to play with ? A drum is splendid : 
rub-a-dub-dub ! rub-a-dub-dub ! " 

" There, hush ! try to go to sleep," said Kate. 

She sat quiet as a statue, the book before her, 
staring at the picture of Philip on Christmas morn- 

■879- J 



ing, jacketless, barefooted, inspecting his plump 
stocking by lamp-light. She dared not turn a leaf, 
or move a finger, and scarcely breathed. After 
what seemed a long, long waiting, she asked in 
a very low tone : 

"Arc you asleep, Johnny?" 

" No," said Johnny. " I keep thinking 'bout 
Philip. What kind of candy do you s'pose it was 
he got in his stocking ? I hope it was gum-drops 
and chocolate-creams." 

" Never mind about that. Just go to sleep." 

Again there was silence, while Kate looked at 
the shadows about the room ; at the clock ; at the 
picture of Philip, and read over, for the twentieth 
time, — or the hundredth, or the thousandth, it may 
be, — the contents of that Christmas stocking. 

At length she thought Johnny must surely be 
asleep, he lay so quiet, and she felt so very anxious 
to make a beginning. She rose softly and tiptoed 
over to the lounge, where he lay with his face to 
the wall. She bent over and peeped. His wide- 
open eyes turned to hers. 

"Are n't you asleep yet?" said Kate, with some 

" No," said Johnny, sadly. " I keep worrying 
about Philip yet. Do you think his candy was 
those mean old peppermint things that faste like 
medicine and smart the tongue ?" 

" No," said Kate, with ready sympathy. "I think 
it was cream-candy. The stocking bulges out in 
one place just the shape of a stick of cream-candy." 

" Let me see where it does," said Johnny, 
eagerly, sitting up. 

Kate, remembering his trait of "holding on," 
decided that the quickest way to quiet him was to 
bring the book and show him the picture. 

" Don't you see, the stocking sticks out right 
there, just like there was a piece of cream-candy." 

Johnny did see, or imagined he did, a slight 
irregularity in the line of the stocking-picture, and 
lay down. Kate arranged the bedclothes about 
him, and said, soothingly : 

"Now, go to sleep, darling." 

" I will," said Johnny, obediently. 

A period of silence ensued, while Kate waited, 
matching in her mind a blue square to a brown 
merino one, and a green to a red. "No," she 
thought, "I '11 put drab and red together." 

" Katie," said a smothered voice from the bed. 

" What is it, Johnny ? " said Kate, hopelessly. 

" Was n't it a very little bit of cream-candy ? The 
stick-out in the picture is such a little stick-out." 

"Why, no," said kind Kate, in a re-assuring 
tone. " I think the stick-out is a good-sized stick- 
out, and I 'm sure the candy was a good large piece." 

" I 'm so glad," said Johnny, settling himself 
again on the pillow. 

Kate waited. Tick ! tock ! tick ! tock ! For 
four minutes this was the only sound. 

" If he stays quiet one minute longer," Kate 
thought, watching the clock, "it must be he 's 
asleep, and then I can work." 


"Oh, dear! dear!" said Kate, growing vexed. 
"What is the matter now, Johnny?" 

" Guess you 'II have to give me some soothing 
sirup to make me sleep," said Johnny. Next to 
candy he liked soothing sirup. 

"Oh, Johnny!" said Kate, in imploring tones, 
" wont you please go to sleep?" 

" I can't, Katie ; I keep thinking about Philip. 
I 'm 'fraid some big boy took a bite of his cream- 
candy, and took more 'n half. Big boys always do 
take more 'n half." 

"I '11 tell you, Johnny. You say your letters 
backward. That will keep you from thinking 
about Philip, and will get you to sleep." 

Johnny promised, and again Kate tucked him 
in, and for a moment everything was quiet. Then 
he again called : 


" Why don't you mind me, and say your letters 
backward, as I told you ?" Kate demanded. 

" I 'm going to," Johnny answered, " when you 
tell me which comes first backward, V or W. It 's 
hard to say them backward ; it 's like dragging 
the sled up hill." 

''Well," said Kate, relenting, "never mind; 
I '11 read to you." 

She began to fear that there might be fifty other 
stoppages before the alphabet backward would be 

She read an essay on the "Art of Reading." 
In the midst of the first paragraph her reading was 

" It is n't a pretty piece," said Johnny. 

"Wait; may be you'll like the last part bet- 
ter," said sly Kate. 

"Well," Johnny assented, turning over. 

Kate went on reading about the " importance of 
a distinct enunciation," and about the "indispens- 
able condition to good reading that the author's 
meaning should be clearly apprehended," etc., etc., 
reading in a voice purposely as monotonous as 
the slow grinding of a coffee-mill. Suddenly she 
stopped ; a welcome sound came to her ear : 
Johnny was snoring ! 

Then Kate brought out the scrap-bag from the 
oven of the kitchen-stove, where she had hid it, 
and soon actually made a beginning. 





(Aft Indian Legend.) 

By William M. Cary. 

[This story has been told to the children of the Dacotah Indians fur very many years, having been handed down from generation to 
generation ; and it is now listened to by Indian children with as much interest as it excited in the red-skinned boys and girls of a 
thousand years ago.] 

On the bank of one of the many branches of 
the Missouri River, — or "Big Muddy," as it is 
called by the Indians on account of the color of its 
waters, — there lived a 
little boy and a little 
girl. These children 
were very small indeed, 
being no bigger than a 
man's finger, but very 
handsome, well formed, 
and also quite strong, 
considering their size. 
There were no men 
and women in the world 
at that time, and none 
of the people who told 
the story knew how 
these two 
small folk 
came to be 
livingon the 

and a girl; but nothing about this is known for 
certain. These small people lived in a tiny lodge 
near the river, feeding upon the berries that grew 
along the shore. These were of great variety and 
many delicious flavors. There were wild currants, 
raspberries, gooseberries, serviceberries, wild plums 
and grapes; and of most of these, one was suffi- 
cient to make a meal for both of the children. 

The little girl was very fond of the boy, and 
watched over and tended him with great care. She 
made him a tiny bow from a blade of grass, with 
arrows to match, and he hunted grasshoppers, 
crickets, butterflies, and many other small creat- 
ures. She then made him a hunting shirt, or 
coat, from the skin of a humming-bird, ornamented 
with brilliant little stones and tiny shells found in 
the sand. She loved him so dearly that no work 
was too much when done for him. 

One day he was out hunting on the prairie ; and, 
feeling tired from an unusually long tramp, he lay 
down to rest and soon fell fast asleep. The wind 
began to rise, after the heat of the 
day ; but this made him sleep the 
sounder, and he knew nothing of 
the storm that was threatening. 
The clouds rolled over from the 
north-western horizon, like an army 
of blankets torn and ragged. With 
flashing lightning, the thunder-god 
let loose his powers, and peal after 
peal went echoing loudly through 
the canons, up over hills, and down 
into prairies where the quaking 
asp shivered, the willows waved, 
and the tall blue grass rolled as the 
winds passed over, like a tempest- 
tossed sea. Only the stubborn 
aloes, the Spanish bayonet, and 
the prickly pears, kept their posi- 
tion. But the storm was as brief 
as it was violent; and, gradually 
subsiding, it passed to the south- 
east, leaving nothing but a bank 


banks of the river. Some persons thought that erything was drenched by the heavy rain. The flow- 
they might have been little beavers, or little tur- ers hung their heads, or lay crushed from the weight 
ties, who were so smart that they turned into a boy of water on their tender petals, vainly struggling to 




rise and rejoice that the storm had passed away. 
The sage-brush looked more silvery than ever, 


clothed with myriads of rain-drops, which beaded its 
tiny leaves. Through all the storm, our little hero 
slept, the feathers of his hunting-coat wet and flat- 
tened by the rain. When the sun came out again 
and shone upon him, it dried and shriveled this little 
coat until it cracked and fell off him like the shell 
of an egg from a newly hatched chicken. He soon 
began to feel uncomfortable, and woke up. Even- 
ing was fast approaching ; the blue-jay chattered, 
the prairie-chicken was calling its young brood to 
rest under its wings for the night, the cricket had 
at last sung himself to sleep, and all nature seemed 
to be getting ready for a long rest. Our boy, how- 
ever, had no thought of further sleep. His active 
mind was thinking how he could revenge himself 
upon the sun for his treatment of him, in thus ruin- 
ing his coat. The shadows on the plains deepened 
into gloom and darkness, but still he thought and 
planned out his revenge. Early in the morning, 
he started for home. The little girl had been 
anxiously watching for him all night, and came out 
to meet him, much rejoiced at his safe return ; but 
when she saw the condition of his coat, on which 
she had labored with such care and love, she was 
very much grieved. Her tears only made him more 
angry with the sun, and he set himself to planning 
with greater determination by what means he could 

annoy his enemy, the sun. At last a bright idea 
struck him, and he at once told it to the girl. 
She was delighted, and admired him the more for 
his shrewdness. They soon put their plans into 
practice, and began plaiting a rope of grasses. 

This was a great undertaking, as the rope had 
to be very long. Many moons came and went 
before this rope was finished, and, when the 
task was completed, the next thing to be con- 
sidered was, how they should carry or transport it 
to the place where the sun rises in the morning. 
This question puzzled them greatly, for the rope 
was very large and heavy, and the distance was 
very great. 

All the animals at that time were very small 
when compared to the field-mouse, which was then 
the largest quadruped in the whole world, twice 
the size of any buffalo. The horse, or, as the 
Indians call it, " shungatonga," meaning elk-dog, 
did not then exist. It was a long time before the 
children could find a field-mouse to whom they 
might appeal for aid. At last they found one at 
home, sitting comfortably under an immense fern. 



The little boy then went up to him, and, after 
relating his troubles, asked if he would assist in 




carrying the 
rope. Mount- 
ains had to be 
crossed, rivers 
swum or ford- 
ed, according 
to their depth, 
wide expanses 
of prairie to be 
passed over, 
forests skirted, 
swamps waded 
and lakes cir- 
cled, before the 
rope and its 
makers could 
reach the place 
where the sun 

rises. The field-mouse, after much considera- 
tion, agreed to help the pair, and they began their 
preparations by winding the rope into a great coil, 
which they packed on the back of the field-mouse. 
On the top of this, the boy and girl seated them- 
selves, and the journey began. When they came 
to a river which must be crossed by swimming, the 
rope was taken off the mouse and unwound ; then 
he would take one end in his mouth, and swim to 
the other side, letting it trail out after him as he 
swam. This performance had to be repeated many 
times before the whole rope was landed on the 
opposite bank. When this was done, he had to 
swim across again and fetch the little pair, seating 
them on h'is 

forehead. ! ■ ■fy a?-"*"" T~^> T3 5| 

It was hard 
work for the 
mouse, but the 
little boy en- 
couraged him 
to his work by 
promises of re- 
ward and com- 
pliments on his 
strength. The 
high mountains 
were crossed 
with great toil, 
and while they 
were on the dry 
plains the trav- 
elers suffered 
for want of wa- 
ter. The sun had dried up everythin 
almost seemed as if he understood 


I, and it ing there for several days. When, at last, they 

their ob- felt rested and refreshed, they began their work 

ject, for he poured down upon them his hottest at night-fall, and the first thing they did was to 

rays. Several changes of the seasons, and many uncoil the rope. The little boy then took one 

i8 7 9-J 



end of it in his teeth, and climbed up one of the watched the sun struggling to free himself, getting 
trees at the extreme edge of the woods, where red with fury and rage, and pouring out his burning 
he spread it out in the branches, making loops and heat on all surrounding things. The leaves shriv- 


slip-knots here and there all over, from one tree to 
another, until the rope looked like an immense net. 
Then the mouse, finding his services no longer 
needed, left them and wandered far away. 

As morning approached, the'two children emitted 
the wood, everything being in readiness, and retired 
to a distance to watch the result of their work. Soon 
they espied a pale light gleaming behind the forest 
and gradually becoming brighter and brighter. 
On came the sun, rolling up in all his grandeur and 
fast approaching the ropes, while two little hearts 
were beating quickly down below. In a moment 
he had reached the net-work of rope, and then, 
before he knew it, he was entangled in its meshes, 

eled and dropped from the trees, the branches 
could be seen to smoke, the grass curled up and 
withered, and at last the forest began to burn as the 
heat became more intense. It seemed as if all 
nature was on fire. The joy of the children now 
turned into fear. The elk, deer and buffalo, came 
rushing out of the woods. The birds circled 
shrieking and crying, and all living things seemed 
wild with fear. 

At last, the field-mouse called the animals to- 
gether for a consultation, as to what was best to be 
done. They held a brief council, for no time could 
be lost. The elk spoke up and said, that as the 
mouse had gone to so much trouble to carry the 


and found himself thoroughly entrapped ! What rope to entrap the sun, he was the one who 

a proud moment for our hero ! He compared his ought to set him free from his entanglement. 

own size with that of the sun, and his delight This was generally agreed to, and, besides, the 

seemed beyond bounds as he and the little girl field-mouse was the largest animal and had such 

Vol. VII.— 10. 




sharp and strong teeth that it would be easy for 
him to gnaw through any rope. 

It was getting hotter and hotter : something 
must be done quickly. The sun was blazing with 
rage ! The field-mouse finally yielded to the wishes 
of his fellow-animals ; and, rushing into the wood, 
through the terrible heat and smoke, he gnawed 
the rope, but in doing so was melted down to his 

present size. The sun then rapidly arose, and 
everything soon became all right again. 

The fact of the little man trapping the sun and 
causing so much mischief, proved his superiority 
over the other animals, and they have feared him 
ever since. And, according to the Indian belief, 
this little man and this little woman were the father 
and mother of all tribes of men. 



(A Fann-house Story.) 

By William O. Stoddard, Author of "Dab Kinzer," etc. 

Chapter IV. 

AUNT Keziah may have been a little vexed at 
finding how large a price Hawknose John had 
made her pay for Piney's new bow, but she was 
not the woman to say a great deal about a matter 
of that kind. She and his mother admired it with 
him, and, after careful search, Mrs. Hunter picked 
out from an old work-bag a very strong piece of 
twine for a bow-string. 

"O," said Piney, "where did you get that?" 

" I think it 's a piece of one of your uncle Liph r s" 
old fishing-lines. It 's been in my bag ever since 
he was here, last summer." 

" I 'm glad you never tied up a bundle with it, 
and I 've got a splendid lot of arrows." 

"The Woodchuck made them for you, did he 

" I can't say who made them, exactly. He- 
never works if he can help it." 

Kyle Wilbur had sauntered off toward the shore; 

i8 79 -J 


I 39 

of the lake, and, before long, Piney Hunter joined 
him with the new bow, ready strung for use, in his 
hand. In the other he carried several straight and 
well-made arrows. Two of these were very much 
admired by Kyle, for they had sharp points, in- 
stead of blunt, wooden heads. 

" Looks as if you 'd set in a couple of shoe- 
maker's pegging awls," he said, "and then whit- 
tled the rest of the head down around them." 

"That 's just what I did," said Piney; "but 
you can't guess what I did it for." 

" Why, to shoot with." 

" Of course. But you get into the boat with me 
and I '11 show you. You sit away astern and pad- 
dle along. Don't make a bit of noise. Go across 
the flats. I '11 be in the forward end and I '11 show 

" O," said Kyle, "I understand. You 're going 
for pickerel, Indian fashion. I 've done it, myself, 
only I never caught anything." 

" I have, then. You did n't have such a bow 
as this." 

" Nor such an arrow neither. Besides, I can't 
begin to shoot as well as you can. I 'm not strong 
enough in my arms." 

He certainly did not look as if he were, but then 
that was probably no fault of his. He would have 
been very glad, no doubt, to be as fat and rosy 
and strong as his school-mate and near neighbor. 

As for Piney himself, he had told his mother and 
Aunt Keziah that he must do something or other 
while he was waiting for Uncle Liph and the rest 
to come, or he should " go wild." 

Aunt Keziah had answered: "Well, Piney, 
Roxy and Chub are about all we can attend to. 
The city folks '11 get here just as early if you go 
and row around on the lake for a while." 

So he had taken her advice, and carried his bow 
and arrows with him. 

His old bow, which he had now turned over to 
Roxy, promising to make her some arrows for it, 
some day, was only about half the size of the new 
one and not very strong. He had hardly used it 
for a long time, but it was, after all, a pretty big 
plaything for a little girl. 

" I wish I had some arrows," she said; " I want 
to shoot." 

" I 'm just as well pleased you have n't any, just 
now," said Aunt Keziah. " We must look out for 
the windows and the looking-glasses." 

That was quite likely, but Roxy longed for some 
arrows all the same. 

Meantime, Piney and Kyle floated slowly on over 
the " flats." That was a part of the lake where 
the water was quite shallow, so you could see the 
bottom anywhere. In some places it was hardly 
two feet deep, but the scow was a sort of boat just 

suited for that. She could have floated, with only 
those two boys in her, in water a good deal shal- 
lower than that was. 

Piney Hunter sat in front, with his bow in his 
hand and his arrow on the string, looking earnestly 
over into the clear water, as the boat glided on, now 
and then making motions to Kyle to steer one way 
or another. Twice he let fly his arrow, but each 
time he pulled it back by a long string he had tied 
to the end of it, and said aloud: 

"Didn't hit him." 

"Don't you think you aim too high?" asked 
Kyle. " You 've got to shoot under 'em." 

" I know that. The water makes 'em look 
higher up than they really are. But may be I don't 
aim low enough." 

" Then the water makes the arrow glance up a 

" I '11 try again. Hush, now. There 's a big 
one. Biggest kind. Slow, now, — slow." 

Whether that pickerel was taking an afternoon 
nap, or whether he was only watching for flies, and 
was too lazy to move, there he lay, only a few 
inches below the surface, until the scow crept slyly 
on to within shooting distance. 

Piney held his breath for a moment, and drew his 
arrow almost to the head. It seemed to him that 
it must go away down under the fish, but he was 
determined to try it, and he let fly. 

"Twang," went the bow, and there was hardly 
a spatter on the water as the arrow darted in. 

Then there was a great spatter, a regular splash, 
as the pickerel sprang to the surface. 

"Hurrah!" shouted Kyle, "you 've hit him, 

" That 's the way the Indians used to do," said 
Piney. " Hawknose John told me." 

" What made you let go of your string ? Now, 
you can't pull him in." 

" Well, there 's a shingle float on the end of the 
string. O, how I wish I had a net ! " 

" Or a gaff spear. He keeps coming out on top 
of the water." 

" Paddle along, Kyle. O, is n't he a big one ! 
He 's a perfect whopper." 

And Piney dropped the oar he had been striking 
out with. 

" Now I 've got him ! " 

He was reaching over after his fish when Kyle, 
who was as much excited as Piney, and perhaps a 
little more so, gave a dig with his paddle that made 
the boat swing round, and in another instant the 
pickerel shooter was floundering in the water. 

" I 've got him," he spluttered again ; " it is n't 
deep. Let me pitch him in. He 's only a little 
stunned, and he 's beginning to flop again." 

Piney had grasped the arrow which had entered 




the fish a little behind his shoulders, showing that 
it had been aimed exactly right, instead of too 
low. He pulled it out, however, as he dropped 
his prize into the boat. 

The water was about up to his waist, just there, 
and he followed the fish into the scow with no 
worse harm than a thorough ducking. 

" What a splendid pickerel ! Why. he must 
weigh four pounds !" 

" Biggest one anybody 's caught in this lake for 
ever so long," said Kyle. " Would n't I like to try 
my luck ! " 

" So you shall, some day ; but just look at me, — 
and all that company coming ! I say, Kyle, is n't 
that a carriage, coming up the south road ?" 

''Looks like one. Must be your uncle, I guess." 

"Let 's pull for home, then. O, dear me, I 
shan't have time to change my clothes ! Well, 1 
don't care, I 've got the pickerel." 

It was not that they had so very far to go, but 
the carriage on the road was traveling a good deal 
faster than the boat, and when they pulled in at 
the landing, it was almost at the front gate. There, 
too, were Piney Hunter's mother, and Aunt Keziah, 
and Roxy and Chub, and even Ann, the hired 
help, all out on the front piazza, ready to start for 
the gate, where one of the farm hands was waiting 
to take care of the baggage and the horses. 

The carriage stopped in front of the gate, and a 
boy of about Piney's age, but a good deal more 
nicely dressed, and not half so rosy, sprang down 
from the front seat, by the driver. 

Then the door opened, and a tall gentleman got 
out, just as Roxy rushed through the gate, shout- 
ing: "Uncle Liph ! Aunt Sarah! Cousin Bi ! 
Where are Mary and Susie?" 

" They are here," calmly remarked Uncle Liph, 
as he helped out a portly, motherly-looking woman, 
who at once caught up Roxy in her arms. 

Then came a young lady, who got out without 
any help, and turned around to lift out a little girl, 
half a head taller than Roxy. 

That little girl was plainly the visitor Aunt Ke- 
ziah had been looking for, and she did not speak 
to anybody else till she had said: "My little 
Susie ! " half a dozen times, with nobody counted 
how many kisses. 

There were kisses all around, and so many things 
being said that it was of no sort of use to answer 
anything just then, when a deep, strong voice 
from the carriage exclaimed : " Well, am I to be 
forgotten ? " 

"Grandpa! Grandpa!" shouted Roxy. " O, 
how nice ! We did n't know you were coming. 
Where 's Grandma?" 

" Gone to Boston. But I 've come to see Roxy 
and Chub." 

And while he was speaking, a very nice-looking 
old gentleman, with silver-gray hair, came slowly 
down from the carriage. He was a little lame in 
one foot, but he looked well and hearty. 

"How did you all pack into one carriage?" 
said Aunt Keziah. 

" O, Susie carried me," said Grandpa, just as 
" Bi " was asking, " But where is Cousin Richard ? " 

Piney ?" said Aunt Keziah, 

' O, he got tired 
lake for a row. 

of waiting, and went out on the 
He '11 come " 

" There he comes ! " shouted Roxy. 

" He 's comin', " added Chub, " and he 's dot a 

"Must have swum for it, I should say," 
remarked Uncle Liph. " What a looking boy ! " 

"Bayard," said Aunt Sarah, "there 's your 
cousin Richard." 

There he was, indeed, half out of breath with 
haste, his loose clothes clinging to him with the 
wet, and he held his big pickerel by the gills with 
one hand, while he carried his bow and arrows in 
the other. 

His face, though, had never looked redder, and 
his dark eyes were sparkling with fun and with 
the pleasure he felt at seeing his friends. 

" Piney," said Uncle Liph, " you 're a trump. 
Where did you get that pickerel?" 

" Shot him with an arrow, and then Kyle Wilbur 
tipped me into the lake after him. I got him." 

" So you did. Bayard, my boy, I 'd like to see 
you do a thing like that, clothes or no clothes." 

" Bi " looked as if he hardly knew whether to 
shake hands first with his cousin or with the fish, 
but Piney had to say just then : 

"No, Susie, you must not hug me now. Not 
till I 'm dry again. Hug Chub for me. He 's 

But Chub had been hugged enough, and was 
walking all around his big brother, staring at the 
pickerel, the bow, the arrows and the dripping 
clothes. It was not the first time that suit had 
been in the water, and it had never been of 
exactly the cut and style of cousin " Bi's." 

Piney's mother blushed with pleasure, however, 
as she heard Mary Hunter whisper to Aunt Sarah 
and Grandfather : 

" What a splendid-looking boy he is growing to 

Chapter V. 

WHEN Grandfather Hunter and Uncle Liph and 
the rest came to visit at the farm-house by the lake, 
they left a home of their own behind them. 

It was a particularly nice home, — a large square 
house, with a front twice as wide as most city 
houses have. It was not really in the great city 




itself, but out at one end of it, where the houses 
were not very close together, so that Uncle Liph's 
house had a good deal of ground around it. 

The outside was handsome enough to please 


anybody, but, when once you got in at the front 
door, you could see that it was differently furnished 
from other people's homes ; that is, the chairs and 
tables and carpets were a good deal like other 

people's, except that none of them seemed to be 
very new. 

But there were other things. The hat-rack in 
the hall, near the front door, was made of great 
antlers of moose and elk and deer, put together on 
a mahogany frame, and it was just the thing to 
hang hats and coats on. There was a great head 
of a moose, natural as life, in the middle of it. 

Over the door leading into the front parlor, on 
the left of the hall, was a stuffed eagle with wide- 
spread wings, and right opposite him, at the top 
of another door that led into a reading-room, was 
a white owl, beautifully stuffed, sitting as still as if 
he were not one bit afraid of that eagle. 

The further you went around that house, the 
core you would see of queer and unusual things. 
A suit of ancient armor, that almost seemed to 
have a man in it, stood leaning on a spear at the 
back parlor entrance; but nobody had ever seen it 
stop people who were going in or out. 

Uncle Liph was what is called an "antiquarian " ; 
and so, after his own fashion, was Grandfather 
Hunter. That is, they were fond of knowing about 
the ways of people who lived in the old times, long 
ago, — how they lived and worked and talked and 
dressed, and particularly how they made war and 
what kind of weapons they used in their hunting 
and fighting. 

So they liked old furniture, if it were good and 
serviceable, better than new furniture ; and, when 
a man once asked Uncle Liph what there was 
" ancient " about a pair of deer-horns, he had said : 

"Ancient? Why, the oldest deer in the world 
wore a pair. They wore them in Noah's Ark. 
There 's nothing modern about horns." 

That summer afternoon, at the time Piney Hun- 
ter was shooting his big pickerel, the great square 
house on the edge of the city had an empty and 
deserted look. But it was not entirely deserted. 
Uncle Liph would never have left his treasures all 
alone; no, not for a single night. He had said to 
his hired man, Terence McGonigal : 

"Now, Terry, my boy, you must keep a sharp 
lookout. I don't want to find that my big eagle 
there has flown away during my absence !" 

And Terry had answered : 

" Dade, yer honor, it 's a quiet sort of a bird he 
is. But I '11 not slape in the library, wid all thim 
owld conthraptions around me. Sure and they 'd 
make me dhrame of Brian Boru and the Danes." 

" You need n't sleep at all, Terry. It is n't that 
I 'm afraid of. If you and Fanny will keep awake 
all the time I 'm gone, the house wont be run away 

" I '11 answer for the house, yer honor, and I 
pity the man that thries to run away wid Fanny." 

Fanny was the cook; and if any one had seen 



[December, ■ 

Tier that afternoon standing with Terry in the 
library, while he talked to her about Uncle Liph's 
treasures, he, also, would have been ready to 
pity the man who should have to carry her far. 
Hawknose John's bag of potatoes was nothing at all 
to such a load as Fanny the cook would have been. 
But, if she was tall and stout, she was not at all 
lazv. It was really surprising to see how fast she 
did move about, especially when she was in the 
kitchen getting dinner. Just now she was standing 
still enough. She had seen it all before a great 
many times; but it was a sort of treat to be there 
with Terry, and have it all to themselves. 

"An' they wore thim? " she asked, pointing to 
some pieces of old armor that hung high up on 
the wall. 

"Wore thim? What else, thin? Sure it was 
all the clothes they had in thim days." 

" I 'm glad I did n't live thin. How 'd you like 
it yersilf, Mr. Terence McGonigal, to have a black- 
smith for a tailor ? Did they nail 'em on ? " 

"Was they horses?" asked Terry, scornfully. 
"No, indade ! Thim iron clothes was all put the- 
gither wid rivits and bolts and screws, and thin the 
man that was to wear 'em crept into 'em and stood 

Terence and Fanny had a great deal more to 
say, for Uncle Liph's "library" was a very large 
room, with a great many things in it. Piney 
Hunter had been dreaming of it during all the 
year past. He was almost ready to envy his cousin 
Bayard the privilege he had of going in. every 
day, to see all those books and curiosities. 

Chapter VI. 

As soon as the new-comers at the farm could 
be led into the house, and their baggage had been 
carried up to their rooms. Piney set about the 
work of making himself ''look nice" again. He 
and Bi were to room together, and all the while 
they were changing their clothes, for those of the 
city boy were dusty enough, in his opinion, In 
require changing, Piney was asking him questions 
about "the collection." 

" Is it all there?" 

"All of it. Father keeps all he gets, if he 
thinks it 's worth keeping. He 's found a great 
many new things since you were there." 

" New things? " 

"Well, old things, but I mean things he did n't 
have before. He had a good many sent over from 

"From Europe? Armor? Shields and helmets 
and all that ? " 

" Weapons, too. Grandfather tried to make 
me believe one of the swords was the one David 
bulled Goliath with. If I had n't known better " 

" How did you know? You were n't there." 

" Were n't where ? " 

" There when David killed Goliath." 

"No, and neither was that sword. I found out 
about it. It was an old German sword ; very old 
and curious." 

And so the boys went on for some ten minutes, 
when suddenly they heard Aunt Sarah, at the 
kitchen door, exclaiming : 

" Keziah, where are the children ? " 

" Roxy took them out on the lawn." 

"On the lawn? I do not see them. O, Keziah, 
they 're all in the boat, Roxy and Susie and Chub." 

" Just like her !" exclaimed Aunt Keziah, as she 
ran to the foot of the stairs* ; and then she called : 

" Piney ! Piney ! Hurry down to the lake. 
The children are in the boat ! " 

"What are you doing?" asked Bi Hunter of 

"Doing? Going for my old clothes. I don't 
want to wet a fresh lot. These are my Sunday 

The first thing Aunt Sarah had done, on get- 
ting to her room, had been to give Susie's very 
eager but somewhat dusty little face a good wash- 
ing. It was hardly possible to do any more for 
her, with Roxy standing by, holding Chub by the 
hand, and both of them in such a fever to show 
their city cousin a little of everything. 

Aunt Sarah laughed at this tumult, and hurried 
the children out of her room with another caution 
about not getting into mischief. Roxy thought her 
aunt must know very little about the country, or 
she never would have said that. Roxy was entirely 
sure Susie would be safe with her and Chub, and 
she led them both down-stairs and out on the lawn. 

" That 's our lawn," she said, proudly. " That 's 
where we play croquet. We had two cows there, 
and a calf once, and the calf bunted me over on my 
back. Kyle Wilbur ran after him 'most down to 
the lake, but Aunt Keziah said it served me right." 

" Why, it was dreadful ! " exclaimed Susie ; "he 
might have bit you." 

" No, calves don't bite. I tickled his nose with a 
straw, to see if he could laugh. That 's what he 
bunted me down for. Is n't it beautiful grass?" 

"Beautiful ! " 

" And there 's a whole tubful of pinies in front 
of the piazza, and there 's roses and s'ringa flowers 
and myrtle and violets and dahlias and tiger-lilies 
and, — and, — and — there 's the lake ; Susie, let 's 
go and see the boat." 

Roxy knew she should remember the names of 
the other flowers after a while, but they did not all 
come to her mind at once. It was easier to show 
the lake and the boat, and Susie had been looking 
that way while Roxy pointed at the tub of peonies. 




Susie was in ecstasies over the boat when they 
got to the landing. 

"It 's a beautiful boat," she said, "and it swims 
all of itself." 

"That's what boats are for," said Roxy. " Piney 
and Kvlc Wilbur go a-fishing in it. It wont tip 
over. " 

"Wont it?" 

" No ; it 's a real strong, good boat." 

-' It 's Piney's boat," said Chub. 

Roxy had been pulling on the chain, and now 
she had brought the scow close up to the edge of 
the wooden platform which Aunt Keziah had had 
built for a landing. 

Chub clambered over into the boat at once, for 
he had sailed in it a great many times and was not 
a bit afraid ; but Susie hesitated until Roxy shouted 
to her : 

"Jump in, Susie. I '11 row you all over the 

Susie knew she was a city girl, and thought, of 
course, it was all right if Roxy said so. Besides, 
Roxy was a good deal younger, — more than two 
years, — and Susie did not exactly like to seem 
timid, so she stepped cautiously in and sat clown 
on one of the middle seats. 

" There 's some water in the bottom ! " she ex- 

" Oh, that 's nothing. It wont do to let the boat 
get too dry. Piney told me so. He lets it leak a 
little all the while." 

Roxy was busy with the chain, which was merely 
hooked to a staple in a stout post, and now she got 
it loose and gave the boat a shove that sent it away 
from the landing. 

" O, Roxy, we 're all a-floating !" 

" Of course we are," said Roxy, self-confidently. 
" Now I must take the oars and row you. I can 
row 'most as well as Piney." 

"But where are the oars?" asked Susie. "I 
can't see any." 

" The oars ? Why, yes, — I 'c' like to know. O, 
Cousin Susie ! There they are, up there on the 
bank, beyond the landing." 

" You can't row without oars." 

" Somebody 's taken them out of the boat." 

That was true. Kyle Wilbur had done it, when 
he and Piney came back with their big pickerel. 
And now they were quite a little distance from the 
shore, and Susie began to wish she had never seen 
either the lake or the beautiful old scow. 

" O, Roxy, do you think we '11 be drowned?" 
" No, indeed, as long as we stay in the boat, 
flt 's only people that tumble into the water that 
•ever get drowned. Piney has told me often and 


often that nobody '11 ever be drowned if they keep 
out of the water." 

" I wish Piney was here." 

" Oh, he '11 come. Don't you be afraid. I aint." 

" I aint af'aid," said Chub. " It 's Piney's boat. 
He boated me 'way ac'oss de lake, once." 

And Chub leaned over the gunwale of the scow 
in a way that made his sister catch hold of his frock 
and exclaim : 

" Chub ! Chub ! you must sit still. If you aim 
careful you '11 rock the boat and scare Susie." 

It was just at that moment that Piney heard 
Aunt Keziah calling to him from the foot of the 
stairs. He understood the whole thing in an in- 
stant, and it was wonderful how quickly he was out 
on the grass with nothing on him but a dry shirt 
and a wet pair of trousers. 

"Wont you hurt your feet?" asked Bi, as he 
followed him. 

"Hurt my feet? Of course not. Not on this 
grass. You would n't have me put on shoes and 
stockings to swim in, would you ? " 

" No, I should say not. Do you think you '11 
have to swim ? " 

" Guess I will. Come on, Bi." 

By this time Aunt Keziah, with Piney's mother 
and Susie's, and Cousin Mary, and even Grand- 
lather Hunter and Uncle Liph, were hurrying 
down toward the boat landing. 

"Oh, those children!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah; 
" what will become of them ? " 

They were rapidly drifting out into the lake, 
at all events, for a light wind was blowing off 

" Is the water deep?" asked Uncle Liph, anx- 

" Pretty deep, around here," said Aunt Keziah ; 
and then she shouted to the children : 

"Sit still! All of you! Sit still." 

Susie was almost ready to cry when she saw her 
mother and the rest come running down to the 
shore, and she sat as still as a mouse ; but Chub 
was playing over the side of the boat, with his new 
straw hat in the water, and Roxy had not lost an 
inch of her courage and confidence. She was a 
little pale, but she said : 

" It 's all right, Susie. This is n't anything. 
Piney 's coming." 

" I wish he 'd come," whimpered poor Susie, for 
she understood that the grown-up people were get- 
ting frightened about them, although she could not 
see clearly that they were in any danger. 

Piney was coming, with Bi close behind him, 
and he chuckled with delight as he sprang from 
the landing into the warm, clear water. 

ontinued. ) 




8 -\;\ - 





By M. C. 

When Perseus struck off the head of the terri- 
ble Gorgon Medusa, as described in the story of 
his life already given in St. Nicholas,* it is 
said there sprang from her body a winged horse. 
This was the strange and beautiful animal, now 
known in mythology as Pegasus, and the ancient 
poets and fable-writers told many stories concern- 
ing him. 

Hardly was the fiery creature born, when he flew 
up into the heavens, and there became the horse 
of Jupiter, for whom he carried thunder and light- 
ning. In course of time, however, Pegasus had 
a less powerful rider. 

A young man named Hipponous happened to 
slay Bellerus, a Corinthian, and on this account 
was named Bellerophon ; to save his life, he took 
refuge at the court of a king named Prastus. But 
here, also, Bellerophon got into trouble, and Prae- 
tus sent him to Iobates, king of Lycia, with private 
orders to have the young man slain at the first op- 
portunity. To accomplish this, Iobates sent Bellero- 
phon to kill the dreadful, fire-breathing monster, 
Chimaera, firmly believing he would never return 
alive. There was a chance, too, that both might 
die, and thus Iobates would gain the love of his 
people, as well as the friendship of Prajtus ; for 
Chinicera had killed great numbers of the Lycians. 

The fore part of ChiniEera's body was like a lion, 
the hind part like a dragon, and the rest like a goat. 
But, although his foe was so horrid and terrible, 
Bellerophon seems to have taken the matter very 
comfortably, for we hear of his falling asleep in the 
temple of the goddess Minerva, where he had gone 
to talk the fight over with one of the priests. This 
nap proved a piece of good luck ; for the goddess 
was kind enough to appear to him in a dream, and 
tell him that, in order to kill Chimaera, he must 
manage to tame and ride Pegasus, and that he 
would find the horse at the Pirene spring, for there 
Pegasus loved to drink. 

This famous spring of pure water supplied a 
great part of the town of Corinth. It was not 
the same as the spring Hippocrene, which we 
shall come to presently, and which is sometimes 
called the " Pierian " spring, from Pieria, the 
country in which it is situated. 

To aid Bellerophon in conquering the horse, 
Minerva gave him a golden bridle. When he 
awoke, Bellerophon found this bridle by his side ; 
and, as it proved his dream to be true so far, he 
started for the Pirene spring, and lay in wait there. 

* June, 1873. tSee Professor Procto-'s star maps, in 

After a long time, the young man heard a loud 
fluttering of wings, and, looking up, he saw the 
wonderful horse hovering in the air. As Bellero- 
phon had hidden himself very carefully, Pegasus, 
not seeing him, flew gracefully down to the 
fountain, drank of it, quietly stretched himself 
out and fell asleep. Then Bellerophon crept up- 
softly, and suddenly leaped upon the creature's 
back. The shock awoke the winged horse, who 
never till then had felt the human touch. He 
sprang up in wild alarm, and rose, with quick 
wings, high into the air, doing his utmost to shake 
off his rider. But Bellerophon kept his seat, 
swung the golden bridle skillfully over his steed's 
head, and slipped the bit into his mouth. After 
that, Pegasus submitted, and the young man could 
make him fly just as he wished. 

Riding on his winged horse, Bellerophon boldly- 
attacked and killed Chimaera, to the great joy of the 
Lycians, although Iobates and Praetus felt sorry 
Bellerophon escaped. The young man was so 
grateful to Pegasus that he would have set him 
free ; but the noble creature had learned to love his 
brave master, and would not leave him. Even 
when Bellerophon wanted to go into the heavens, 
Pegasus tried to fly up there with him on his back ; 
but the gods threw Bellerophon down to earth for 
trying to intrude upon them uninvited. 

In later times, Pegasus was said to have been 
also the horse of the Muses, the nine goddesses, 
who presided over the different kinds of poetry and. 
over the arts and sciences. Once these nine had a 
singing-match with the nine daughters of Pierus, 
on Mount Helicon, in Pieria. When the daugh- 
ters of Pierus sang, all nature became dark ; but 
when the " Tuneful Nine" broke forth into song, 
the heavens, the sea and all the rivers stood still tC' 
listen ; and Mount Helicon itself rose heavenward 
with delight, until Pegasus stopped it by a kick, 
from his hoof. Out of the print of this timely: 
kick bubbled up the fountain called Hippocrene, 
whose waters were said to bring inspiration to all 
who drank of them. The defeated nine were 
changed into birds. 

Nobody has told us the final fate of the beautiful 
Pegasus ; but some ancient writers hint that he 
returned into the heavens and became the horse 
of Aurora, the goddess of the morning. Certainly 
it is pleasant to think so ; and perhaps it is in 
memory of this event that astronomers have giverb 
his name to a group of stars, f 

St. Nicholas for August, September, and October, 1877. 





( For Sunday-school and other Festivals. ) 

By Edward Eggleston. 

Introductory Note. — One of 
the chief merits claimed for the 
following entertainment is that it 
is not at all instructive, for it 
teaches no moral {or immoral) 
whatever. It is simply an amuse- 
ment for children,— a little sweet- 
meat with no medicine (or poison) 
concealed in it. It will occupy 
about half an hour in the perform- 
ance, and is meant to go with other 
exercises. Mother Goose is the 
center of interest. This part should 
be taken by a young girl, fifteen to 
seventeen years of age ; but the 
age dees not much matter pro- 
vided your Mother Goose is not a 
goose. Pick out the girl that acts 
a droll part with the most readi- 
ness, self-possession and fire. Let 
her be well trained. A large part 
of the interest will lie in the cos- 

'-jW Bp na ... . 

tumes, which must be gotten up 
with care. Do not Itt the piece be hurried. Give the children time 
to appreciate every part, else it may seem to them confused and 

The House. — The screen, containing a picture of Mother Goose's 
House in something approaching to perspective, as shown in the cut, 
should be twelve feet long and ten feet high, with a slope at each 
end, a projection for eaves, and a little square at the top for the 
chimney, — common muslin on a light frame. Any fresco painter will 
paint the house for you, following our illustration. If your room is 
small, reduce the size of your screen a little. This screen should 
stand about six feet from the back of the stage, so as to give room be- 
hind it for the children taking part. There should be a practical door, 
— the windows may be of tissue paper with strips of white for sash, 
or they may be painted. The house will be slightly out of perspect- 
ive to accommodate the door, etc., but this will not be perceptible. 
From the ends of the screen, stretch green paper-muslin obliquely to 
the wall, so that persons behind the screen may not be visible to the 
audience by any chance. In front of the muslin, put a row of ever- 
greens. Let some competent person remain behind to send out the 
little players as they are wanted. (If for any reason you cannot get 
a screen painted, you will find a description of a house built of ever- 
greens, in " The Hduse of Santa Claus," in St. Nicholas for Decem- 
ber, 1876, page 131.) 

On the platform in front let there be a small table, and leaning 
against the house a broom, with which Mother Goose can be sweep- 
ing in any pauses or delays of the performance, and which she can 
use as an instrument of discipline when occasion requires. 

The Stocking — Should be made of any proper material. It 
should be about six feet long in the leg, and of proportionate length 
an the foot. It should be filled with paper, except at the very top. 
where there should be a few bags of candy, etc., such as you intend 
eo distribute to the children. The remainder of the candy-bags 
should be behind the screen so that they can be brought out after the 
stocking is carried in. Let the top of the stocking be tied up. 

The stocking is lifted to its place against the ceiling by cords run 
over two pulleys fixed immediately above the middle of the front of 
the platform. These cords should run to the nearest pillar, or down 
the nearest wall, where they should be fastened in easy reach. When 
the stocking has been drawn up =0 that its top touches the ceiling, 
while the foot hangs down, two fine cords, previously attached to the 
heel and the toe, and which also go over pulleys, or through rings, 
are drawn so as to bring the stocking flat against the cei'ing, cross- 

wise of the room. Flags are then draped in front of the stocking so 
as to conceal it from the view of the audience. If the stocking be 
striped like the flags, the concealment will be perfect. But the flags 
must be so arranged as not to impede the stocking in its descent. 
When the time comes for lowering it, the cords holding the foot are 
first released, and the stocking drops into plain view of the whole 
audience. Here let it hang for a minute. Then lower it to the stage, 
by means of the cords attached to the top. 


Mother Goose. Short striped skirt, black bodice, white waist, wide 
ruffle, and fancy slippers with very high heels. A white cap under 
n high peaked hat. The hat has for its foundation a broad-brim 
straw hat such as farmers some- 
times wear. Over the hat a long 
pointed crown of Bristol-board, 
two feet high, is sewed in the 
shape shown in the illustration. 
The crown of Bristol-board should 
be separately covered with blue 
muslin, and the brim of the straw 
hat covered with the same. Then 
the peaked crown is sewed on and 
the hat is complete. She should 
be provided with a cane, a pair of 
spectacles, a large red silk hand- 
kerchief, and a snuff-box. The 
front hair should be powdered with corn-starch, or flour. 

Simple Simon should wear a slong-sleeved apron of bright calico 
hanging below the knees, a skull-cap set on the back of his 
head, and low loose slippers. He should have a fishing-rod and a 

Little Boy Blue should be rather small and wear short pantaloons 
of blue paper-muslin, with a loose blouse of the same, belted with a 
strip of red. Gap of blue paper-muslin also, made full like a house- 
maid's sweeping-cap, but without ruffle. He should have a loud- 
sounding tin horn. 

Tom, the Piper s Son, may be dressed in his ordinary clothes, with 
the addition of a red blouse and cap, made like that described above. 
The pig may be made of unbleached muslin stuffed with rags or 
paper. It should, of course, look somewhat like a pig. A large, 
loosely filled pillow may be used as a foundation for the pig, who 
should be about two feet long when complete. Two corners of the 
pillow may be tied up for ears. 

Mary should be a little girl, with ordinary clothes, a broad, flat hat 
hanging on her back, and a few school-books under her 2rm. 

Marys Little Lamb is made by covering a boy with unbleached 
muslin having cotton stitched on it in irregular tufts. The covering 
should inclose the boy's head, holes being left for the eyes and for 
breathing. He should walk on hands and knees. He will not look 
very lamb-like at best, but that is all the better. If you can buy a 
mask like a sheep's head, it will serve for the face. 

The Bachelor is a rather short boy with a high " stove-pipe " hat, 
and a very long coal, or a short coat with very long tails. He has a 
toy wheelbarrow, large enough to hold 

The Bride, who wears a long dress, a prim little bonnet and a 
light-colored shawl. 

The Little Old Woman should wear a large scoop-shovel bonnet 
with a cape or shawl. 

The Hen is made by putting a large night-dress upside down on a 
boy, his feet thrust through the sleeves. A pillow is adjusted be- 
hind and the garment is gathered about the neck, and then about the 
pillow to make a tail. Paper fringe completes the tail. The head is 
a pointed pasteboard cap marked for the mouth, and a mask 

i8 7 9-l 



marked for the eyes. (The construction of the hen is borrowed 
from the shanghai in " Spooner's Great Human Menagerie." See 
St. Nicholas for April, 1875, where there is a fuller description with 
cuts. But our description will be sufficient for an ingenious person.) 

Tlte Man in the Moon wears a mask made with two pasteboard 
crescents fastened securely, one on either side of his cap, and secured 
by strings about his neck. 

The Man in tlte South wears a disk or wheel about two feet in 
dinmeter. with a hole for his face to project through. This disk is 
fastened by strings to his neck and head ; the edges of the disk arc 
cut into deep points to look like the sun in an almanac picture* 


(The presiding chairman, when the time arrives, will say: "I will 
now introduce to you our old friend, Mother Goose, who lives in 
a cottage of her own." The curtain, or other covering, which has 
concealed the house, is removed, and Mother Goose opens the 
door and comes out. She stops on the front of the platform, lays 
her cane on the table, slowly removes her spectacles, takes out 
her red handkerchief and wipes them, and then replaces them. 
Then she takes out a snuff-box and pretends to take snuff and 
sneeze, using her red handkerchief. After dropping a courtesy, 
she speaks slowly in a sharp voice.] 

Mother Goose. I [walks about the stage. ] 

I [a pause during which she moves about, 

coughs, and uses her handkerchief.] I am Mother 
Goose, a poor, simple old body, that makes verses 
to get children to sleep. I 'm pretty old. I aint 
afraid to tell my age. I would tell you how old I 
am if I only knew, but it 's been so long since I 
was a gosling that I 've forgotten how long it is. If 
my memory serves me right, I think I 'm a tough 
old goose, more than a thousand years old. I rock- 
ed Shem, Ham, and Japhet to sleep when Noah 
was alive. I don't mean Noah Webster, but Cap- 
tain Noah that sailed in the ark. I would sing you 
some of my songs, but I am afraid to. My verses 
are just like soothing sirup, and if I should sing, 
you would all snore the accompaniment in five 
minutes. But I '11 repeat one verse : 

Hey diddle diddle, 

The cat played the fiddle, 
The cow jumped over the moon ; 

The little dog laughed 

To see such craft, 
And the dish ran away with the spoun. 

For my part I think that dish was a little spooney. 
But the little dog ! Would you like to sec the lit- 
tle dog that laughed. He 's a funny fellow [laugh- 
ing] ; shall I bring him out ? [Mother Goose returns 
to the door of her house and receives from within a 
covered basket of pretty large size. Carries it to 
the front and sets it on the table.] The dog 's in 
that basket. I '11 let him out in a minute. He 's a 
funny fellow. [ Takes a pinch of snuff and wipes 
her nose and eyes with the red handkerchief.] 
Now for our little dog. He wont bite you, my 
dear children. He only laughs. [She removes the 
basket to the floor.] Now, Fido, I "m going to let 
you out. You can laugh a little for these children. 
Do you want to get out, Fido ? [Opens the basket 
very slowly and cautiously.] Now you can come 
out, doggie. Here. Fido ! Here ! [She moves 

* See " Le 

[Calls.] Simon ! 

away from the basket and addresses the audience. ] 
He 's afraid, poor fellow. Here, Fido ! Come 
out, poor little doggie ! I '11 have to take him out. 
[She slowly stoops down and makes a show of pet- 
ting a dog in the basket.] Poor fellow, he should 
come out ; yes he should. Don't you bite me now. 
[Lifts out a toy dog and holds it up in plain view.] 
That 's the doggie. Poor 
little fellow ! Laugh a little 
now, laugh ! He '11 laugh 
in a minute. [Squeezes 
Ihe box beneath the dog so 
that it makes a barking 
sound. ] There ! I told you 
he would laugh. [Makes 
him barkagain and again. ] 
Now he 's tired. He shall 
go back into the basket, 
and then he shall have 
his dinner, so he shall. 
Simon I Simple Simon ! 

[Enter Simple Simon with a fishing-rod in one hand and a pail in 
the other. ] 

Simon. Ma'am ? 

MOTHER GOOSE. Here, take this dog into the 
house and feed him. 

Simon. I don't want to. 

Mother Goose. You must, though. 

Simon. I want to go fishing. [Sets down his 
pail in the farther part of the platform and baits 
his hook with a piece of paper. Then he lets his 
hook hang in the pail.] 

Mother Goose. [Addressing the audience.] 
That is Simple Simon. 1 made a verse about him : 

Simple Simon went a-fishing 

For to catch a whale, 
And all the water he had got 

Was in his mother's pail. 

Here, Simon, take this basket into the house. 

SlMON. Can't. 1 'm fishing. [Jerks up his 
line eagerly.] 

Mother Goose. You must. 

Simon. I wont. 

MOTHER GOOSE. [Seizes him by the collar and 
shakes him.] You wont, eh ? 

SIMON. [Scratching his head.] I was just go- 
ing to catch a whale ! 

Mother Goose. I '11 whale you. Take that 
basket into the house and feed the dog, and send 
the Old Bachelor out. 

MOTHER GOOSE. [Wiping her spectacles.] That 
boy is such a trial. There 's the Old Bachelor 
now, he 's 'cute. I made a few verses about him. 
[Recites in a sentimental sing-song.] 

When I was a bachelor I lived by myself. 

And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf. 




The rats and the mice, they made such a strife 
That I had to go to London to buy me a wife. 

[Sotto voce.] Wives were dear in those days. — cost 
twenty-five cents apiece. 

The streets were so broad and the lanes were so narrow, 
That I had to fetch the wife home on a wheelbarrow. 

[Enter the Old Bachelor with empty wheelbarrow.] 

The wheelbarrow broke and my wife got a fall, 
And away went wheelbarrow, wife and all ! 

[The Bachelor wheels twice or three times across the stage. Then 
he stops in front of the door. The wife comes out. She sits on 
the wheelbarrow and he wheels her about the stage two or 
three times, while Mother Goose points at them with her cane, 
and nods in dumb show at the audience; then he lets the bar- 
row fall, tipping the wife out He seizes her and replaces her, 
but she leaps out and runs into the house, while he takes the 
wheelbarrow and goes after her.] 

Mother Goose. 

Little Boy Blue come blow your horn, 

The sheep 's in the meadow, the cow 's in the corn. 

[Enter Boy Blue, who blows his horn in Mother Goose's face, while 
she stops her ears and dances about the platform. At last she 
cuffs him until he sits down on a chair. As she turns away he 
gives one more toot, whereupon she seizes her cane and shakes 
it at him. He makes show of putting his horn to his mouth 
several times, but desists each time, when Mother Goose shakes 
her cane over him.] 

Mother Goose. 

Tom, Tom, the Piper's son, 
Stole a pig and away he run. 

The pig was eat and Tom was beat, 
And Tom ran crying down the street. 

[During this recitation, Tom enters by the door, steals the pig hid- 
den in the evergreens, and, putting it on his shoulder, sneaks 
across the stage. Just as Mother Goose finishes the stanza, she 
turns about and discovers him behind her with the pig.] 

the broom, which stands against the house, and 
dashes after him. Tom runs three or four times 
round the stage, chased by Mother Goose, who is 
followed In turn by Boy Blue blowing his horn j 
at last Tom runs in at the door, and Mother Goose 
chases Boy Blue about with her broom and drives 
him within, his horn blowing until he disappears :] 
I 'm agitated. [Wipes her spectacles.} Boys are 
so flustratious ! They 've set me all in a tremble, 
1 do declare. I '11 call Mary. Mary ! Mary I 
[Enter Mary.] My dear, I am all upset and over- 
turned and flustrated in my nerves by those rude 

Mary. I 'm sorry, Mother Goose. Can I help 
you ? 

Mother Goose. To be sure you can, my dear. 
Go and bring your precious little lamb out here. 
He's so lovely and so pacifying. [Exit Mary.] 
Now, while Mary 's gone to find her Iamb, I '11 
show you the bone that old Mother 
Hubbard got for her dog. [She 
takes up an empty box from the 
table and opens it, turns it upside 
down as though expecting some- 
thing to fall out.] That 's the 
bone. For you remember that 

Old Mother Hubbard 

Went to the cupboard, 
To get her poor dog a bone. 

When she got there, 

The cupboard was bare, 
And so the poor dog got none! 

[Wipes her spectacles, and takes snuff.] I wish 
Mary would come. P'r'aps I 'd better say that 
po'try about her, though I did n't make it myself. 
I don't think you 've ever heard it : 

Mary had a little Iamb, 

Its fleece was white as snow, 

And everywhere that Mary went 

The lamb was very likely 'most always to go, you know. 

It went with her to Sunday-school one day ; 

And that was against the rule. 

It made the children laugh and play, 

To hear a little lamb bleating right out loud in school. 

And so the teacher turned him out; 
But still he lingered near, 
And nipped the grass and nosed about. 
And stuck his head in the water-spout, 
And wiggled and twisted to get it out, 
And scratched his head with his toe, no doubt. 
Till Mary did appear. 

Here she comes now. Bring him out, Mary, 
bring him out, and let us see the dear little lamb. 

[Enter Mary leading the lamb by a cord about his neck. They 
pas* to the front where Mary pets the lamb She afterward 
leads him off the stage.] 

Mother Goose 


Mother Goose. Oh, there you are, you sneak- 
ing little thief! I '11 give it to you. [She seises 

' What makes the lamb lov< 
The eager children cry. 
' Whv, the lamb 's a little goose, you know,'" 
The teacher did reply. 




\_Knocking heard at the door within. ] Now, who 's 
that ? Some of my people that want to come out 
here and show themselves off, I suppose, and can't 
wait for the right time. [Proceeds to the door and 
opens it. Enter the Man in the Moon and the Man 
in the South. The latter carries a pan or dish from 
which he is eating something, making signs that it 
is too hot for him.] Now what do you two moon- 
struck and sun-struck men want here? [They pro- 
ceed to the front of the platform and bow.] 
Man in the Moon [recites slowly.] 

The Man in the Moon came down too soon 

To ask the way to Norwich. [Pronounce Norridge. J 

Man in THE South [recites.] 

The Man in the South, he burnt his mouth 
By eating cold plum porridge. 

Mother Goose. Oh ! now ! is that all ? Well, 
you might as well have staid at home if that 's all. 

[The Man in the Moon and the Man in the South walk slowly 
about the stage. The Man in the South offers the Man in the 
Moon some porridge, which the latter eats with every sign of 
burning his mouth.) 

Mother Goose. Simpletons ! Go back and 
eat your cold plum porridge at home, and send the 
Old Woman and her Hen out here to me. [Exeunt 
the two men.] I wish that Old Woman and her 
Hen would come. [Calls.] Chickee ! Chickee ! 
Chickee ! Chick ! Chick ! 

[Enter the Old Woman followed by the Hen. They walk about the 
stage, stopping every now and then, the Old Woman dropping 
courtesies to the Hen, and the Hen bowing solemnly to the 
Old Woman. They stop at length on the front of the platform, 
where the Old Woman says.] 

I had a little Hen, the prettiest ever seen. 

She washed me the dishes and kept the house clean. 

Is n't that so, my little Hen ? [The Hen bows.] 

She went to the mill to fetch me some flour, 
She brought it home in less than an hour. 

Did n't you, old Hen? [The Hen bows again.] 

She baked mc my bread, she brewed me my ale, 
She sat by the fire and told many a fine tale. 

Did n't you, Hen ? 

Hen. Of course I did. [ The Old Woman drops 
a courtesy to the audience ; the Hen bows, and fol- 
lows her as she walks toward the door of the house. ] 

Mother Goose. You 're a real good Hen. 
[ The Hen turns and bows to Mother Goose. Exe- 
unt Old Woman and Hen.] 

Mother Goose. Now I think it is time you 
had some refreshments. I hung up a stocking, and 
I hope Santa Claus has put something good in it 
for you. [She steps back from the front and, point- 
ing with her cane to the ceiling, recites.] 

Stocking I Stocking! now appear 
To the children waiting here ! 

[The cords attached to the foot of the stocking are now let go at 
the ends in reach, and so relaxed that the stocking hangs in full 
view of the audience. After a minute, Mother Goose recites.] 

Stocking I Stocking ! to the floor 
Come down lower, lower, lower, 
Open your mouth and show your store ! 

[ While she speaks, the stocking is lowered. Mother 
Goose opens it and finds a bag of candy, etc. This 
bag she ope?is and tastes.] That 's very good. 
What a fellow Santa Claus is! Here are some 
bags of candy and good things. We must get this 
into the house and empty it. [Goes to the door and 
calls.] Come out, all of you. Here 's a lot of 
good things. [All the characters in costume come 
out and stand round the stocking.] Now let us 
carry this inside and empty it. 

[The stocking is carried in, and the candy, etc.. oreviously depos- 
ited in the house, is brought out and distributed.] 





By Lucy Larcom. 

Children dear, can you read 
■ The mystery of the seed, — 
The little seed, that will not remain 
In earth, but rises in fruit and grain? 

A mystery, passing strange 
Is the seed, in its wondrous change ; 
Forest and flower in its husk concealed, 
And the golden wealth of the harvest-field. 

Ever, around and above, 

Works the Invisible Love : 
It lives in the heavens and under the land, 
In blossom and sheaf, and the reaper's hand. 

— Sower, you surely know- 
That the harvest never will grow. 
Except for the Angels of Sun and Rain, 
■Who water and ripen the springing grain ! 

Awake for us, heart and eye, 

Are watchers behind the sky : 
There are unseen reapers in every band, 
Who lend their strength to the wearv hand. 

When the wonderful light breaks through 
From above, on the work we do, 
We can see how near us our helpers are, 
Who carry the sickle, and wear the star. 

Sower, you surely know 
That good seed never will grow. 
Except for the Angels of Joy and Pain, 
Who scatter the sunbeams, and pour the rain ! 

— Child, with the sower sing ! 

Love is in everything ! 
The secret is deeper than we can read : — 
But we gather the grain if we sow the seed. 

i8 7 g.] 


15 » 


By W. A. Linn. 


Everybody has heard of the enterprise of New 
York's business men, their wonderful success in 
building up our foreign commerce, developing 
internal trade, and in many ways controlling the 
traffic of a continent. But it is very easy to over- 
look the fact that working side by side with these 
men, is an army of business boys, to whom all 
branches of trade are indebted for assistance, and 
without whose aid more than one industry would 
suffer at least serious inconvenience. Everybody 
living in a city sees the telegraph messenger hurry- 
ing along the street; hears the news-boy shout- 
ing out the names of his papers ; is offered on 
every hand the services of the boot-black, or comes 
in contact with the cash-boy or office-boy. But one 
is apt to forget that all these boys, and many others 
not so well known, are really "in business," and 
that they are entitled to be so regarded. Their 
occupations, too, are divided much as those of their 
elders. Some, like the news-boys and boot-blacks, 
are capitalists, doing businesson their own account. 
Others, like some of the telegraph-boys, act as 
agents, receiving a sort of commission or percent- 
age on the business which they do. Others still, like 
office-boys and cash-boys, are simply clerks, paid 
to render a particular kind of service. 

There are plenty of boys in the country, too, who 

are steady, hard workers, and some of these even 
poets have not forgotten to write about. Indeed, 
if the business boys all over the land were to have^ 
justice done to them in the way of description, if 
would require the writing of a whole book ; and a 
very interesting book it might be made, too. I 
propose now, however, only to tell my readers some 
facts about telegraph-boys, who are not seen out 
of the large cities; and those of whom I shall speak 
are in New York, where, as that is the largest' 
city in this country, a great many of these boys- 
are employed. 

Every one who lives in New York, and those 
who visit that city, see in the streets a great many- 
boys wearing a very neat uniform, who hurry along 1 
as if they were intrusted with very important busi- 
ness, as indeed they are. These are the telegraph- 
boys or messengers. It will be found that they are 
not all dressed alike, and a little inquiry will show 
that this is because they are in the employ of differ- 
ent companies. Not many years ago, the use of the 
telegraph was very costly, and it was employed 
only for important business. Now, hosvever, in- 
ventors have so applied it that it can, in a large 
city, be made to do a multitude of services at a very- 
small cost. So in New York we find that there are 
two classes of telegraph companies, one principally 




employed in sending messages between distant 
places, and one which works only in the city. In 
each of these branches, boys have a great deal 
to do. 

Let us first make the acquaintance of the boys 
employed by that great corporation, the Western 
Union Telegraph Company, whose wires extend 
over every state and territory, and whose head- 
quarters are in the great building at the corner of 

trimmings, and they wear caps to correspond. In 
rainy weather, each boy wears a complete covering 
of rubber cloth, and so, for them an umbrella is 
never necessary. So rapidly are they expected to 
do their work, that even the very short time lost 
in opening and shutting umbrellas is held to be 
worth considering. 

The number of boys employed by this company 
varies with the season of the year ; for with tele- 


Broadway and Dey street in New York. If at any 
hour of the day or night you enter a door on the 
Dey street side of this building, about fifty feet 
distant from Broadway, you will find yourself 
in a good-sized comfortable room, fitted up with 
some plain benches, on which are seated a num- 
ber of the telegraph-boys whom you see so often 
in the street. The uniforms of the Western Union 
boys consist of suits of dark-blue cloth with red 

graph companies as with other kinds of business, 
there are busy times and dull times. The largest 
number is employed in the main office in the spring 
and autumn, when it sometimes reaches one hun- 
dred. In February, I found about eighty boys on 
the pay-roll, and this may be taken as a fair average. 
Beside the main office, this company has nineteen 
branch offices in the city, each with its messengers, 
and these offices add seventy boys to the list. 




Now I will tell you something about the work of these boys. You can readily 
see that with so many boys in its employ, each entrusted many times a day with 
important messages, for the safe and prompt delivery of which the company is / JJS 
responsible, it is necessary to manage their work by a set of strict rules, so 
that if a boy is slow or careless he may be known at once among all his 
comrades. Long experience has shown how this can be done, and all 
the regulations of the office are made so as to get from each boy the 
best service possible. 

In the first place, the boys are not paid by the day or week, 
but so much for each message delivered. This gives every boy an 
incentive to deliver every message as promptly as possible, and 
to hurry back for another one. For each message which a 
boy delivers, he receives two 
for each answer that he brings 
warded from the office, he re- 
three cents. This explains why 
a telegraph-boy is always ready 
to wait for an answer. The 
amount of money which a boy can 
earn in a day thus depends, it will 
be seen, on his own activity. 
It is found that the 
average number of 
messages delivered 
from the main 
office every day is 
three thousand, and 
the average num- 
ber delivered by 
each boy is thirty- 
five. A boy who is 
a slow walker or 
inclined to be lazy 
will not deliver 

so many, while 
a very ac- 
Now, do 
you know 
how far a boy 
will have to 
walk in a day, de- 
livering these mes- 
sages and returning 
to the office ? Not 
less than nineteen miles ! 
And this does not include 
going up and down stairs, 
which is no small matter in 

Vol. VII.— 11. 

the busi- 
ness streets, 
where offices 
are found all 
the way from 
the ground floor 
to sixth and sev- 
stories. You may 
be sure that, to telegraph-boys, 
elevators are welcome machines. 
As it is necessary for the person in 
charge of the boys to know who are dili- 
gent and who are not, a very careful record 
of each boy's work is kept, showing just how 
long he is absent in delivering each message. This 
record shows that the average time required is, with a 
surprisingly small variation from week to week, eight 
minutes and fifteen seconds. If the average time be- 
comes greater than this, the superintendent at once 
concludes that some of the boys are becoming dilatory, and he 
examines the whole record to find out who are the lazy ones, 
and calls them to account. 

Of course, where so many boys are employed, it is nec- 
essary to have some plan by which each will have the same 

chance to show his 
activity. There are 
5». *!]) _^S£ I,ot m^sages enough 

to keep every boy em- 
ployed all the time ; 
and, without a prop- 
er arrangement, even 
active boys might not 
secure a fair share 
of the work. This 




is all admirably arranged. The messages at the 
main office are received on the seventh floor, from 


message that has come in, it is sent down to the 
ground floor through a tube. On its arrival there, 
a clerk takes it and writes on it a number, begin- 
ning with No. i, for the first message received each 
day. It is then put through a steam copying-press, 
and is next passed to a clerk, who puts it into an 
envelope, on which he writes the number and the 
address. This clerk passes it to still another clerk, 
who copies, on a sheet of paper properly prepared, 
the number of the message and the number of the 
boy who is to deliver it. 

The distribution of the messages among the boys 
is made as follows : Each boy, as he comes into the 
office in the morning, receives what is called a 
" delivery sheet," — that is, a sheet of paper with 
blanks in which to write the numbers of messages, 
the time of leaving the office, the name and address 
of the receiver, and the time of the messenger's 
return. Each messenger is known by his number, 
and each of them has a pasteboard cover for his 
"delivery sheet," on which his number is written. 
These sheets, in their covers, are put into a rack 
which run wires connecting with almost all parts of by the side of the clerk last mentioned above, and 
the world. As soon as an operator has written a he always puts a message, when ready, into the 





cover nearest to him, and calls out the number of 
the boy to whom it belongs. When a boy comes 
back from the delivery of a message, he puts his 
cover into the rack behind those already there, and 
sits down to wait until it reaches the clerk. Thus 
there is no chance for any partiality, and the sooner 
a boy gets back to the office, the sooner will another 
message be ready for him. 

You can see, by what you have read, that a tele- 
graph-boy does not lead a lazy life. His hours of 
duty, if he is a day boy, are from 7 A. M. until 6.30 
p. M. Of course, only a few boys are required to 
deliver messages at night, as a rule. But there 
are times in the year when a great many messages 
come in for delivery between 1 and 7 A. M. At 
such times, ambitious boys are given an oppor- 
tunity to do extra work. Sometimes, a boy can 
do a good day's work by 8 A. M., and he is then 
allowed by the superintendent to "lie off," or, as 
you will better understand it, take a holiday. If a 
boy in this business does have a holiday, he usu- 
ally has the satisfaction of knowing that a good 
day's work and a day's pay have already been set 
down to his credit. 

I have told you that all these boys wear uni- 
forms. If you have ever noticed them, you have 
perhaps wondered how they could keep these uni- 

nation of 

this, which all 

who are mothers of 

boys will very readily 

appreciate. The boys 

are allowed to wear their 

uniforms only while at 

work, not while at home 

or at play. When a 

boy enters the telegraph 

company's employment 

he is provided with a complete uniform. This 

suit of clothes he must pay for, but he is not 

required to do so all at once. Every week, a certain 




forms looking so fresh and neat, tramping around sum is deducted from his wages, and thus the 
as they do all daylong. There is an easy expla- clothes are purchased without being a severe tax 




on him, as it would be if he was required to make 
full payment at the outset, since most of the 
boys have to give their wages to the support 
of their homes. If these boys were allowed to 
wear their uniforms when the day's work was over, 
playing in the streets and lounging about their 
houses would soon spoil them. Accordingly, a 
large room is provided with hooks, all of which are 
numbered, and before a boy leaves the office for 
his home he goes to this room, takes off his uni- 
form and gives it to an attendant, who hangs 
it upon a hook corresponding with the boy's num- 
ber, and returns to him his ordinary suit, which 
has been hanging on this hook during the day. 
Once a week, a tailor looks over all the uniforms, 
and does any mending that he finds necessary. 
Thus it is that a telegraph-boy always looks so 
neatly dressed. 

There is another class of telegraph-boys, to 
whom I now wish to introduce you. I have told 
you that the telegraph is now made to do a 
great many services in the large cities. Instead of 
merely sending messages from one person to an- 


other, instruments are placed in private houses, 
and the occupants, by merely pressing a knob, can 


summon a policeman, or give an alarm in case of 
fire, or call a messenger to do any service that may 
be required. The principal company in New 
York which controls such a telegraph system, is 
the American District Telegraph Company. The 
boys in this company's employ have many duties 
to perform which are not required of the Western 
Union boys, and they therefore have a great many 
things to learn before they can be provided with 
work. When the hirer of a District instrument 
calls for a messenger, the boy can never know 
what he may be wanted for. He may be told to 
hurry for a physician, he may be given a package 
for delivery, or a bill to collect, or he may be sent 
by a broker to deliver stock or to have a check 
certified, — in fine, his duties are too varied for me to 
name them all. When it is remembered that about 
4,500 District instruments are now in use in New 
York, and that 1,513.265 messages were delivered 
by the District boys in the year ended September 
30, 1877, some notion of the manifold services 
required of them can be formed. 

It is easy to see that an inexperienced and un- 
skillful messenger in such an employment would 
only prove himself a nuisance to the public and 
an injury to the company. Every boy, therefore, 




who is employed by the American District Tele- 
graph Company is put into a training-school, and 
this school is a very interesting one. 

When I first made its acquaintance, in the winter 
of 1877, I found it in the second story of a very 
plain-looking building at No. 33 Bridge street, — 
and Bridge street, as even some New Yorkers may 
need to be told, runs toward Broadway from Broad 


street, down in the neighborhood of Bowling Green. 
The school has since been moved to the new 
head-quarters of the company at No. 699 Broad- 

way. The school-room is provided with wooden 
benches, like those found in old-fashioned country 
district schools, but the instruction given is entirely 
in regard to the business of the company. Every 
candidate for a place must know how to read and 
write before he- can be put into the school. It is 
of course necessary for the boys to ,know the situa- 
tion of every street in the city. A large map of 
the city is therefore placed be- 
fore them, with the streets 
marked on it, but without their 
names. The teacher points out 
different streets to his pupils, 
and they are required to name 
them. In this way a messenger- 
boy soon acquires a more com- 
plete knowledge of the city's 
thoroughfares than many an old 
resident can boast of. In one 
part of the room are telegraph 
instruments such 
as the company 
uses, and the boys 
are taught how 
to send and re- 
ceive messages on 
them. Then there 
is a miniature 
bank, where they 
are taught about 
the use of checks, 
and there is a kind 
of make-believe 
broker's office, 
where they are 
taught how to de- 
liver stock, etc. 
Much attention is 
given to the in- 
struction in the 
bank and in the 
broker's office, as 
bankers and bro- 
kers use the mes- 
senger-boys con- 

There is, beside 
all this, a great 
deal for the boys 
to learn about the 
company's meth- 
ods of business, 
which I need not 
explain in detail. 
They must make themselves familiar with the 
"tariff-book," which tells them how much a boy 
must charge for going from any one place in the 




city to any other. They must learn the use of the 
different kinds of tickets, on which the temporary 
record of their service is kept. They must know 
when to charge for a car or stage fare and when it 
is proper for them to walk. 

The boys, too, are drilled at the school in regard 
to a great many particu- 
lars of discipline and ser- 
vice. A few of their 
catechisms are as fol- 
lows : 

Q. — When a call is 
received, what is to be 
done ? 

A. — The boy whose 
turn it is to answer must 
run to the place whence 
the call comes. 

Q. — On arriving at a 
house, what must he do? 

A. — He must wipe his 
feet carefully, and on 
entering must take off 
his cap and place it 
under his left arm. He 
must then ask for the 
person who called, and 
when he receives his 
message he must ask : 
" Is there any answer ? " 
or " If the person is not 
in, shall I leave it?" 

Q. — If a subscriber 
calls by mistake for ames- 
senger when he wants 
a policeman or to send 
a fire alarm, what must 
the messenger do ? 

A. — He must at once 
ask to see the instru- 
ment, and must send the 
proper call, in order to 
avoid delay. 

Q. — If a messenger 
receives a large bundle 
on a rainy day, what 
must he do ? 

A. — He must return 
to the office for a rub- 
ber covering. 

Boys who are qualifying themselves to become 
messengers must attend this school from 9 A. M. 
to 3 P. M. until their training is completed. The 
number of pupils varies with the season of the 
year. In the autumn it sometimes reaches sixty, 
while in summer the number of boys in this train- 
ing-school may dwindle down to twelve or fifteen. 


It will readily be surmised that boys employed by 
the District company cannot be paid asare the boys 
of the Western Union Company, because their ser- 
vices are so different. The District boys are paid by 
the week, and their wages begin even while they are 
pupils. When in the training-school, they get 
one dollar a week, and 
when they enter on their 
regular duties, this pay 
is raised to four dollars 
a week. But there are 
grades of promotion, and 
a boy who becomes a 
sergeant, and then has 
general charge of an 
office, giving out the uni- 
forms, etc., is paid five 
dollars a week. 

The uniforms of the 
District boys are made 
of blue cloth, manufact- 
ured expressly for the 
company, with red trim- 
mings. Each uniform 
costs $12, and to pay for 
it $1.25 is deducted from 
each boy's weekly wages 
as long as is necessary. 
If a boy is discharged, he 
may keep his uniform, 
if it is paid for, or, if he 
so wishes, the company 
will purchase it of him, 
if it is in good condition. 
The same rule applies 
in this company about 
leaving the uniforms at 
the office after the day's 
work is over, as I men- 
tioned in connection 
with the Western Union 

The American Dis- 
trict Telegraph Com- 
pany employs on an 
average 550 boys, who 
are distributed through- 
out the city amongtwen- 
ty-three offices. Each 
office has from five to 
eighty boys in attendance, according to its loca- 
tion, and every boy is expected to serve ten hours 
a day. In some of the offices, constant employ- 
ment cannot be found for all the boys during this 
time, and one form of promotion is to send a boy 
to an " easy district." 

When a boy arrives at his office in the morning, 




he goes to the sergeant, who notes if he is on time 
or not. Then he puts on his uniform and reports 
to the manager, who ascertains whether or not his 
hands are clean and his hair is neatly brushed. 
If he passes this examination successfully, he takes 
a seat ready for duty. The boys respond to calls 
in the order of their numbers early in the morning ; 
afterward they take their turns. 

A faithful boy in the employ of this company is 
never discharged merely because business is dull, 
the resignations of boys who tire of their duties or 
leave for other causes, and the dismissal of boys 
who are unsatisfactory, rapidly decreasing the force 
when additions are not made. It has required no 
little skill so to arrange the service that inefficient 
messengers may be detected among so many ; but 
this has been accomplished by an admirable system 
of records, and discipline is enforced by means of 
fines and extra hours, which soon lessen the wages, 
or prolong the period of daily service, of those 
boys who prove remiss. 

Such is an outline of the duties of the telegraph- 
messengers. To boys who are compelled to sup- 
port themselves, or to assist in the support of a 
family, this employment offers many advantages. 
The work is healthy, because of the constant exer- 
cise which the boys are required to take ; and it is 
noticed that boys who, when hired, are puny and 

delicate, often become rugged and gain in flesh in 
a few months. The pay is larger than boys obtain 
in many other kinds of employment, and they are 
under a sort of discipline which makes them 
methodical and tends to correct many bad habits. 
They are not, it is true, learning any trade which 
they may follow through life ; but those messengers 
who choose to study telegraphy are said to make 
especially good operators. The present manager 
of the messenger service in the Western Union 
building was formerly a messenger boy, as were 
once the superintendents of the Western Union 
offices in two of our large cities. 

Useful as is the telegraph, we should not forget 
that it is the boys who connect its wires with our 
offices and our homes. Electricity will transmit 
our messages across a continent or beneath an 
ocean, but the aid of the boys must be called in to 
bridge the gap that remains between the instru- 
ment and the final destination. The telephone 
and the phonograph, which already have done 
what seems to be almost miraculous work, may in 
time be made the means of conveying a message 
directly from the telegraph instrument to the 
person to whom it is addressed. But, until this is 
accomplished, we must acknowledge our depend- 
ence on the messenger-boys and fairly recognize 
them as persons of business. 


By Margaret Vandegrift. 

There was a young man with a shaddock, 
Who met a young maid with a haddock. 
He thought, " How I wish 
She would give me that fish, 
In legal exchange for my shaddock ! " 

The maiden, who did not like haddock, 
Thought, "Oh, what a beautiful shaddock! 

If I were not so shy, 

I should certainly try 
If he : d give me that fruit for my haddock." 

He went on his way with his shaddock ; 

She went on her way with her haddock ; 
And so cruel is fate 
That, until 't was too late, 
Neither one of them heard 
That, by speaking the word, 

He might just as well have had haddock, 

And she might as well have had shaddock ! 





By Washington Gladden. 


" KEEPS coming light down, don't it, Bill?" 

Bill could not deny it, and did not wish to admit 
it; therefore, he said nothing. 

What was coming down was the snow. It had 
been falling, thicker and faster, since a little after 
daylight, and now it was nearly dark. Stumps of 
trees and gate-posts were capped with great white 
masses of it ; here and there a path, cleared up to 
the back door of a farm-house, showed on either 
hand a high bank of it fluted with broom or shovel. 

The boy, whose observation about its coming 
down I have just recorded, was Master Win field 
Scott Burnham. He was a slender boy, with a 
pale face, dark eyes, and brown hair, and he sat 
pressing his face against the pane of a car window, 
looking with rather a rueful countenance upon the 
fast-falling snow. The young gentleman sitting 
opposite him, whom he had made bold to address 
as Bill, was his big brother, a junior in college, 

who had long been Win's hero ; and he was 
worthy to be the hero of any small boy, for he was 
not only strong and swift and expert in all kinds 
of muscular sports, but he was too much of a man 
ever to treat small boys, even though they might 
be his own brothers, roughly or contemptuously. 

Just across the aisle, on the other side of the 
car, sat Win's eldest sister, Grace, who was a 
sophomore at "Smith" College; and fronting her 
on the reversed seat was Win's younger brother, 
Philip Sheridan. 

The reason why these Burnhams happened to 
be traveling together was this : The Christmas 
vacation had come, and William and Grace were 
on their way to their home in Pittsfield, Massa- 
chusetts. The two small boys, whose school at 
home had closed a week earlier than the colleges, 
had been visiting their cousins in Hartford for a 
few days ; and it was arranged that William should 

i8 7 9-J 



come over from Amherst and join Grace at North- 
ampton, and that the two should wait at Spring- 
field for the little boys, who were to be put on the 
northern train at Hartford by their uncle. But 
the trains on all the roads had been greatly 
delayed by the snow, and it was four o'clock 
before the noon express, with the Burnhams on 
board, left Springfield for the West. The dark- 
ness was closing in, and the wind was rising, and 
William had already expressed some fear of a 
snow-blockade upon the mountain. This remark 
had made Win rather sober, and he had been 
watching the snow and listening to the wind with 
an anxious face. 

" How long shall we be going to Pittsfield ? " he 
asked his brother. 

"There 's no telling," answered Will. "We 
ought to get there in two hours, but at this rate it 
will be four at the shortest." 

" That will make it eight o'clock," sighed Win. 
" I 'm afraid the Christmas tree will all be un- 
loaded before that time." 

"Yes, my boy; I'm sorry, but you might as 
well make up your mind to that." 

Win started across the car. This disappoint- 
ment was too big for one. He must share it with 

" Hold on, General ! " said William, in a low 
tone. "What 's the good of telling him? Let 
him be easy in his mind as long as he can." 

Win sat down in silence. Phil was telling his 
sister great stories of the Hartford visit, and his 
gleeful tones resounded through the car. Grace 
was laughing at his big talk, and they seemed to 
be making a merry time of it. But the train had 
just stopped at Westfield, and there was difficulty 
in starting. The wind howled ominously, and 
great gusts of snow came flying down from the 
roof of the passenger house against the windows 
of the car. Presently, the two engines that were 
drawing the train backed up a little to get a good 
start, and then plunged into the snow. 

"Ch h! Ch— h! ch— ch ! Ch-h-h-h-h !" 

The wheels were slipping upon the track, and 
the train suddenly came to a halt. 

Back again they went, a little further, for 
another start ; and this time the two engines, like 
"two hearts that beat as one," cleared the course, 
and the train went slowly on up the grade. Grace 
and Phil had stopped talking, and they now came 
across and joined their brothers. 

" Are n't you afraid there may be trouble on the 
mountain, Will ? " asked Grace. 

" Should n't wonder," said that gentleman, 

" But, Will, what in the world should we do if 
we should happen to be blockaded ? " 

" Sit still and wait till we were shoveled out, I 
suppose. You see, we could n't go on afoot very 

"Going to be snowed up! That's tip-top!" 
cried Phil. The boy's love of adventure had 
crowded out all thoughts of the festival to which 
they were hastening. " I read in the paper about 
a train that was snowed up three or four days on 
the Pacific road, and the passengers had jolly 
times ; the station was n't very far off, and they 
got enough to eat and drink, and they had all sorts 
of shows on the train." 

" But I 'd rather see the show at the Christmas 
tree to-night," said Win, "than any show we'll 
see on this old train. Would n't you, Bill? " 

" Perhaps so," answered Bill. It was evident 
that he had reasons of his own for not wishing to 
be absent from the festival. 

Meantime, the train was ploughing along. Now 
and then it came to a halt in a cut which the snow 
had filled, but a small party of shovelers that had 
come on board at Westfield usually succeeded, 
after a short delay, in clearing the track. Still, the 
progress was very slow. A full hour and a half 
was consumed between Springfield and Russell, 
and it was almost seven o'clock when the train 
stopped at Chester. 

The boys were pretty hungry by this time, and 
the prospect of spending the night in a snow-bank 
was much less attractive, even to Phil, than it had 
been two hours before. At Chester, where there 
was a long halt, the passengers — of whom there 
were not many — nearly all got out and refreshed 
themselves. A couple of sandwiches, a piece of 
custard pie, a big, round doughnut and a glass of 
good milk, considerably increased Phil's courage 
and greatly comforted Win, so that they returned 
to the car ready to encounter with equal mind the 
perils of the night. 

The snow had ceased to fall, but the wind was 
still blowing. Two or three more shovelers came 
on board, and, thus reinforced, the train pushed on. 
But it was slow work ; the grade was getting 
heavier and the drifts were deeper every mile. But 
Middlefield was passed and Becket was left behind, 
and at nine o'clock the train was slowly toiling up 
toward the summit at Washington, when, suddenly, 
it came to a halt, and a long blast was blown by 
the whistles of both engines. Shortly, a brakeman 
came through the train, and, taking one of the red 
lanterns from the rear of the last car, hurried down 
the track with it. 

" Where is he going with that lantern ?" asked 

" He is going back a little way," said Will. 
" The lantern is a signal to keep other trains from 
running into us. That means that we are to stay 




here for some time. I '11 go out and see what 's 

Presently, he returned with a sober face, and 
looking very cold. 

" Well, what is it?" they all asked. 

" O, nothing ; there 's a freight-train in the cut 
just ahead of us with two of its cars off the track, 
and the cut 's abouL half full of snow. If our 
Christmas goose is n't cooked already, there '11 be 
plenty of time to have it cooked before we get out 
of this." 

" Is it that deep cut just below the Washington 
station?" asked Grace. 

''The same," answered Will; "and it 's as 
likely a place to spend Christmas in as you could 
find anywhere in Western Massachusetts." 

'• Can't they dig out the snow ? " cried Win. 

"Oh yes," said the big brother, "but it's not an 
easy thing to do; it 's got to be done with shovels, 
and it will take a long time." 

" How long?" asked Grace, ruefully. 

"Nobody knows. But we shall be obliged to 
wait for more shovelers and wreckers to come up 
from Springfield, and I should n't wonder at all if 
we staid here twenty-four hours." 

" Can't you telegraph to father?" 

" I 'm sorry to say I can not. I asked about 
that, but the station man says the lines are down. 
No ; there 's nothing to do but bunk down for the 
night as well as we can, and wait till deliverance 
comes. We 're in ai regular fix and no mistake, 
and we Ye just got to make the best of it," replied 

Just then the rear door of the car opened and a 
figure appeared that had not been seen hitherto 
upon the train. It was that of a stalwart man, 
perhaps fifty-five years old, with long white hair 
and beard, ruddy cheeks and bright gray eyes. He 
wore a gray fur cap and a long gray overcoat, and 

looked enough like Somebody that we are all 

thinking of about Christmas time, to have been 
that Somebody's twin brother. 

"Good evenin', friends!" he said, in a very 
jolly tone, as he shut the car-door behind him. 
"Pleased to receive a call from so many on ye. 
Merry Christmas to ye all ! 'Taint often that I kin 
welcome such a big Christmas party as this to my 
place ! " 

The good-nature of the old farmer was irresist- 
ible. The passengers all laughed. 

" I believe you," said a traveling salesman in a 
seal-skin cap ; "and the sooner you bid us good 
riddance the better we shall like it." 

" And you need n't mind about wishing us 
many happy returns either," said a black- whiskered 
man in a plaid ulster; " if we ever get away from 
here, you won't see us again soon ! " 

"What place is this?" inquired a gray-haired 
lady, who sat just in front of the Burnhams. 

" Washin'ton 's what they call it," said the jolly 
farmer. " Pop'lar name enough; but the place 
don't seem to be over pop'lar jest now, with some 
on ye." And he laughed a big jolly laugh. 

" Is it, like our capital, — a 'city of magnificent 
distances'?" inquired the man in the ulster. 

" I reckon it is. It 's consid'able of a distance 
from everywhere else on airth. But it 's nigher to 
heaven 'n any other place hereabouts." 

"What is raised on this hill?" inquired the 
traveling salesman. 

" Wind, mostly. Is that article in your line ? " 

The laugh was on the salesman, but he enjoyed 
it as well as any of them. A bit of a girl about 
three years old, tugging a flaxen-haired doll under 
one arm, here came sidling down the aisle of the 

" Ith oo Thanty Kaufh?" she said, lifting her 
great, solemn black eyes to the farmer's face. The 
laugh was on him now; and he joined in it uproar- 

" Not jest exackly, my little gal," he said, as he 
lifted her up in his arms ; " but you 've come purty 
nigh it. Sandy Ross is what they call me." 

"Has oo dot a thleigh and a waindeer ? " per- 
sisted the little maiden. 

" No; but I 've got a first-rate wood-sled, — pair 
o' bobs, with a wood rack on't, — 'n' ez slick a span 
o' Canadian ponies ez ever ye see ! " 

The farmer stroked the dark hair of the little 
girl with his great hard hand, and she snuggled 
down on his shoulder as if he had been her grand- 

The Burnhams had been joining in the merri- 
ment, though they had taken no part in the con- 
versation. But when the little girl climbed down 
from the arms of Sandy Ross, Will arose and 
beckoned him to a vacant seat. 

" How far from here do you live, Mr. Ross? " 

" Right up the bank thar. That 's my house, 
with a light 'n the winder." 

It was a comfortable-looking white farm-house, 
with a sloping roof in the rear and a big chimney 
in the middle. 

" Now, Mr. Ross, I live in Pittsfield, and I want 
mightily to get there before noon to-morrow. I 
don't believe this train will get there before to- 
morrow night. Could you take my sister, and 
those two little chaps and me, and carry us all 
home early to-morrow morning on your wood-sled, 
providing it is n't too cold to undertake the jour- 
ney? " 

" Le's see. Wall, yes; I calc'late I could. I 
was a-thinkin' 'bout goin' over to Pittsfield t'mor- 
rer with a little jag o' wood, 'n' I reckon live crit- 




ters like you won't be no more trouble, ho ! ho ! 
The snow aint no gret depth ; 'taint nigh 's deep 
on 'tother side o' the mountain ez 't is on this side. 
There '11 be drifts now 'n' then, but the fences is 
down, so that we kin turn inter the fields 'n' go 
round 'em." 

" How long will it take you to drive over?" 

" Le's see. 'Taint over fifteen or sixteen mile. 
I reckon I kin make it in three to four hours." 

" Well, sir, if you '11 get us over there safely 
before noon I '11 give you five dollars." 

"All right; that 's enough; tew much, I guess. 
But see here, my friend ; jest bring the young 
lady 'n' the little chaps up to my house 'n' spend 
the night there, all on ye. Then we kin hev an 
airly breakfast, 'n' start fair when we get good 
'n' ready." 

In less than five minutes the Burnhams, with 
bags and bundles, were following Sandy Ross to 
the door of the car. 

This was the last that our travelers saw of their 
fellow-passengers on the Western Express. Late 
the next afternoon the train rolled into Pittsfield 
station, but the Burnhams were busy elsewhere 
about that time. 

It was but a few steps from the train to Sandy 
Ross's house. William carried his sister through 
the deepest snow, and the boys trudged along with 
the bundles, highly pleased with the prospect of an 
adventure in a farm-house. Good Mrs. Ross was 
as blithe and hearty as her husband, and she soon 
made the young folks feel quite at home. 

To Miss Grace " the spar' room," as Mrs. Ross 
called it, was assigned, while Will and the two 
boys found a sleeping-place in the attic. The dim 
tallow-candle that lighted them to bed disclosed 
all sorts of curious things. In one corner, facing 
each other, were two old, tall clocks that had long 
ceased ticking, and now stood with folded hands 
and silent pendulums, resting from their labors. An 
old chest of drawers, that would have been a prize 
for hunters of the antique, was near the clocks ; 
braids of yellow seed-corn hung from the rafters, 
and at one end of the great room stood the hand- 
loom on which the mother of Mrs. Ross had been 
wont to weave cloth for the garments of her house- 
hold. It was an heir-loom, in the literal sense. 
The boys thought that this garret would have been 
a grand place to ransack ; but they were too well- 
bred to go prying about, and contented themselves 
with admiring what was before their eyes. It was 
not long before they were sound asleep in their 
snug nest of feathers; and, when they waked the 
next morning, breakfast was ready, and farmer 
Ross and brother Will had made all the prepara- 
tions for the journey. To the excellent farmer's 
breakfast of juicy ham and eggs, genuine country 

sausages, and delicious buckwheat cakes with 
maple syrup, they all did full justice. 

" It does me good to see boys eat," said the 
kind farmer's wife; "they do enjoy it so;" and 
tears were in her eyes as she thought of the hungry 
boys that used to sit around this table. Farmer 
Ross and his wife were alone in the world. Two 
of their boys were sleeping in unmarked graves at 
Chancellorsville ; the other had died when he was 
a baby. But they were not selfish people ; they 
had learned to bear sorrow, and therefore their sor- 
row had not made them morose and miserable ; it 
had only made them more kind and tender-hearted. 

Breakfast over, the wood-sled came round to the 
door, and Mr. Ross looked in a moment to say 
a last word to his wife. 

" You 'd better make two or three pailfuls o' 
strong coffee, mother, 'n' bile three or four dozen 
aigs, 'n'heat up a big batch o' them air mince pies. 
The folks down here on the train '11 be mighty 
hungry this mornin', 'n' I 've been down 'n' told 
'em to come up here in 'bout half an hour, V git 
what they want. Don't charge 'em nothin' ; let 
'em pay what they 've a min' ter. P'raps some on 
'em haint nothin' to pay with, 'n' they '11 need it 
jest as much as the rest. We must n't let folks 
starve that git storm-staid right at our front-door. 
And now all aboard for Pittsfield ! " 

The hearty thanks and farewells to good Mrs. 
Ross were soon said, and the Burnhams bundled 
out of the kitchen into the wood-sled. It was a 
long rack with upright stakes rising from a frame 
and held together by side rails, through which the 
ends of the stakes projected a few inches. A side- 
board, about a foot in width, had been placed 
within the stakes on either side, and the space so 
inclosed had been filled with clean oat-straw. Miss 
Grace wrapped Mrs. Ross's heavy blanket shawl 
round her seal-skin sacque, each of the two little 
boys did himself up in a blanket, William robed 
himself in his traveling-rug, and they all sat down 
in the straw, two fronting forward and two back- 
ward, and placed their feet against four hot flat- 
irons, wound in thick woolen cloth, and laid to- 
gether in a nest between them. Over their laps a 
big buffalo-robe was thrown, and Farmer Ross 
heaped the straw against their backs. 

Away they went, shouting a merry good-by to 
the farmer's wife,- secure against discomfort, and 
happy in the hope of reaching home in time for 
their Christmas dinner. Down in the railroad cut 
they saw the shovelers and the wreckers toiling at 
the disabled freight cars, but not much stir was 
visible about the express train that lay a little 
further down the track. The snow did not appear 
to be very deep, and the ponies skipped briskly 
along with their light load. Here and there was a 




bare spot from which the snow had been blown, 
but not many drifts were found, and these were 
easily avoided, as Mr. Ross had said, by turning 
into the open fields. 

Farmer Ross was as blithe as the morning. 
From his perch on a cross-board of the wood-rack 
he kept up a brisk talk with the group in the straw 
behind him. 

" Fire 'nough in the stove ?" he asked. " 'Taint 
often that ye hev a stove like that to set 'round 
when ye go a sleigh-ridin'." 

"All right, sir; it 's warm as toast," said Win. 
" Genuine base-burner, is n't it." 

" I should think your feet would be cold sitting 
up there," said Grace. 

" O, no; not in this weather. 'Sides, if they do 
git cold I knock 'em together a little, or else git off 
'n' run afoot a spell, 'n' they 're soon warm agin." 

" Do you often go to Pittsfield?" asked William. 

"Yes, every month or so. Gin'rally du my 
tradin' thar. Tek along a little suthin' to sell com- 
monly, — a little jag o' wood, or a little butter, or a 
quarter o' beef, or suthin'. I meant to hev gone 
down last week, 'n' I had a big pile o' Christmas 
greens 't I meant to tek along to sell, but I was 
hendered, 'n' could n't go. There 's the greens 
now — all piled up in the aidge o' the wood ; I 'd 
got 'em all ready. 'Fraid they wont be worth 
much next Christmas." 

" O, Mr. Ross!" cried Grace; "would it be 
very much trouble for you to put that nearest pile 
of them on the back part of the sled? I can find 
use for them at home, I know, and I should like to 
take them with me ever so much ! " 

" Sartinly ; no trouble at all ; " and in two or 
three great armfuls the pile of beautiful coral pine 
was heaped upon the sleigh. 

The morning wore on toward nine o'clock, and 
as the sun rose higher the air grew warmer. The 
roads were steadily improving, and the ponies trot- 
ted along at a nimble pace. The boys began to 
be tired of sitting still. 

" I 'm not going to burrow up in this straw any 
longer," said Win ; " I 'm going to get up and 
stir about a little." 

" So am I," said Phil. 

It was easy enough to stand on the sled while it 
was in motion. In rough places the boys could 
take hold of the rail of the wood-rack ; and even 
if they fell it did not hurt them. Pretty soon 
Win, who had an artist's eye, began to pull out 
long vines of the evergreen and wind them round 
the stakes of the wood-rack. 

"I say, Phil," he cried, "if we only had some 
string, we could fix this old frame so that it would 
look nobby ! " 

"Well, here 's your string," said Will, produc- 

ing a ball of twine from his overcoat-pocket and 
tossing it to his brother. " I put that in my pocket 
by mistake when I tied up my last package yester- 
day morning, and have been wishing it in Amherst 
ever since." 

"Jolly!" shouted Win. "Now, Mr. Ross, 
you '11 see what we '11 make of your wood-sled." 

" Goin' t' make a kind o' Cindereller coach on 't, 
hey ? Well, go ahead ! I sha' n't be ashamed 
on 't, no matter how fine ye fix it." 

The boys' fingers flew. This was fun ! Before 
long all the stakes were trimmed, and a spiral 
wreath of the evergreen had been run all round 
the side-rail of the rack. It really began to look 
quite fairy-like. William and Grace first laughed 
at the fancy of the boys, and then began to aid 
them with suggestions ; and presently William was 
up himself, helping them in their work. Twine 
wound with the evergreen was run diagonally 
across from the top of each stake to the bottom of 
the nearest one ; and the wood-rack began to look 
very much like what the poets call a " wild-wood 
bower." All it needed was a roof, and this was 
soon supplied. William borrowed Mr. Ross's big 
jack-knife, leaped from the sleigh, and cut eight 
willow rods, and they were speedily wound with the 
evergreen. Then the ends were made fast with 
twine to the railing of the rack on either side, and, 
arching overhead, they completed the transforma- 
tion of the wood-sled into a moving arbor of ever- 

The boys danced with merriment. 

"Isn't it just gay?" cried Phil. "I never 
dreamed that we could make it look so pretty ! " 

" We could n't have done it, either," said Win, 
" if Bill and Grace had n't helped us. But what 
will the fellows say when they see us ridin' down 
the street ? " 

" What I am most curious to see," said Will, 
" is the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Burnham and Baby 
Burnham, when this gay chariot drives up to their 
door ! They 're worrying about us powerfully by 
this time, and I reckon we 've a jolly surprise in 
store for them." 

" I hope they will not be as badly frightened," 
said Grace, "as Macbeth was when he saw ' Bir- 
nam wood ' coming." 

"Pretty good for sis," laughed William. 

" What 's the joke ? " inquired Win. 

" Too classic for small boys ; you '11 have to get 
up your Shakespear before you can appreciate it," 
answered the big brother. 

" 'Pears to me," now put in the charioteer from 
his perch, " that a rig ez fine ez this oughter have 
a leetle finer coachman. I aint 'shamed o' the 
sled, ez I said ; but I dew think I oughter be fixed 
up a leetle mite to match ! " 




"You shall be," cried Grace. "Here, boys, 
help me to wind a couple of wreaths." 

Very soon, two light, twisted wreaths of evergreen 
were ready, and Mr. Ross, with great laughter, 
threw them over each shoulder and under the op- 
posite arm, so that they crossed before and behind, 
like the straps that support a soldier's belt. Then 
his fur cap was quickly trimmed with sprays of the 
evergreen, that rose in a bell-crown all round his 

Their journey was almost done. How quickly 
the time had passed ! Every few rods they met 
sleigh-loads of people, happy because Christmas 

could get near hitched their hand-sleds to his 
triumphal car. 

Miss Grace was hidden from sight by the ever- 
greens, and she enjoyed the sport of the boys 
almost as much as they did. 

Meantime, the hours were passing slowly at Mr. 
Burnham's. The father and mother had been too 
anxious about their children to sleep much during 
the night. They could get no word from the train 
after it left Chester, and the delay and uncertainty 
greatly distressed them. Mr. Burnham had just 
returned from the station with the news that the 
wires were up, and that the train had been heard 


and the sleighing had come together, and bent on 
making the most of both. These merry-makers 
all looked with wonder upon our travelers as they 
drew near, and answered their loud shouts of 
" Merry Christmas ! " with laughter and cheers. 

They had not gone far through the streets of the 
village before their kite had considerable tail. 
Just what it meant the small boys did not know ; 
but if this driver was not Santa Claus, he was 
somebody equally good-natured, for he bowed and 
laughed right and left, in the jolliest fashion, to 
the salutations of the boys, and as many of them as 

from in the cut just beyond the summit, where it 
was likely to be kept the greater part of the day. 

" Oh dear ! " cried the mother. " I cannot have 
it so ! Can't we get at them in some way ? I 'm 
afraid they will suffer with hunger. Then we had 
counted so much on this Christmas, and the chil- 
dren's fun is all spoiled. Think of them sitting 
all this blessed holiday, cooped up in those dread- 
ful cars, waituig to be shoveled out of a snow-drift. 
It seems as if I should fly. I wish I could ! " 

" Well, my dear," said Mr. Burnham, soberly, 
" I am sorry that the holiday is spoiled, but I see 

1 66 



nothing that we can do. We can trust William to 
take good care of them and bring them all home 
safely; and we 've got to be patient and wait." 

Just then the heads of the ponies were turning 
in at the gate of the wide lawn in front of the 
house. The small boys who were following un- 
hitched their hand-sleds, and the escort remained 
outside the gate. 

" Drive slowly !" said William. " Give them a 
good chance to see us coming ! " 

Baby Burnham was at the window. " Thanty 
Kauth ! " she cried. " Look ! papa ; look ! " 

" What does the child see ! " said Mr. Burnham, 
going to the window. "Sure enough, baby. Do 
come here, my dear. What fantastical establish- 
ment is this coming up our drive-way? It 's a 
bower of evergreens on runners, and an old man 
with a white beard and a white coat all trimmed 
up with greens sits up there driving. He seems to 
be shaking with laughter, too. What can it 
mean ? " 

Just then the wood-sled came alongside the 
porch, and, suddenly, out from between the gar- 
landed sled-stakes four heads were quickly thrust 
and four voices shouted : 

" Merry Christmas ! " . 

" The children ! Bless their hearts ! " 

In a minute more, father and mother and baby 
and the jolly travelers were all very much mixed 
up on the porch, and there was a deal of hugging 
and kissing and laughing and crying, while Farmer 
Ross on his own hook, or rather on his own wood- 
sled, was laughing softly, and crying a little, too. 
What made him cry I wonder? Presently, Mr. 
Burnham said : 

" But, Will, you have n't made us acquainted 
yet with your charioteer." 

" It is Mr. Ross, father. He took us into his 
house on Washington Mountain last night and 
treated us like princes, and this morning he has 
brought us home, and helped us in the heartiest 
way to carry out our fun." 

" Mr. Ross, we are greatly your debtors," said 
Mr. Burnham. " You have relieved us of a sore 
anxiety, and brought us a great pleasure." 

"Wall, I dunno," said the farmer; "I didn't 
like to think o' these 'ere children bein' kep' away 
from hum on Christmas day ; 'n' ef I 've helped 
'em any way to hev a good time, why, — God bless 
'em ! — I don't think there 's any better thing an old 
man like me could be doin' on sech a day as this ! " 

Just here Mr. Burnham's coachman came round 
the corner in great haste. 

"Well, Patrick, what is it?" said his master. 

" The shafts uv that sleigh — bad look tiil 'em ! 
— is bruk, yer honor ; 'n' I don't see how I '11 iver 
git thim bashkits carried round at all ! " 

" O, those baskets ! " cried Mr. Burnham in dis- 
tress. "Our Christmas baskets have n't been de- 
livered yet, and it 's almost eleven o'clock. The 
storm and our worry about you kept us from 
delivering them last night, and we have hardly 
thought of them this morning. I 'm afraid those 
poor people will have a late Christmas dinner." 

"Baskets o' stuff for poor folks's dinners?" 
said farmer Ross ; "let me take 'em round." 

"O yes, father !" shouted Win ; "let Phil and 
me go with him ! The baskets are marked, are n't 
they ? It '11 be jolly fun to deliver them out of this 

In a minute the baskets — half a dozen of them 
— were loaded in, and within half an hour they 
were all set down at the homes to which they were 
addressed. Poor old Uncle Ned and Aunt Dinah 
hobbled to the door and took in their basket with 
eyes full of wonder at the strange vehicle that was 
just driving from their doors ; the Widow Blanch- 
ard's children, playing outside, ran into the house 
when they saw the ponies coming, but speedily 
came out after their basket and carried it in, firm 
in the faith that they had had a sight of the veri- 
table Santa Claus. To all the rest of the needy 
families the gifts, though late, were welcome ; and 
the bright vision of the evergreen bower on run- 
ners brought gladness with it into all those lowly 

Farmer Ross went back with the boys to their 
home ; his ponies were taken from the sled and 
given a good Christmas dinner in Mr. Burnham's 
stable ; he himself was constrained to remain and 
partake of the feast that would not have been eaten 
but for him, and that lost none of its merriment 
because of him ; and at length, about three o'clock 
in the afternoon, the Christmas car, stripped of 
its bravery, but carrying some goodly gifts to Mrs. 
Ross, started on its return to Washington Moun- 

My little friends who read this story will be glad 
to know that the Christinas festival at the church 
had been deferred on account of the storm from 
Christmas eve to Christmas evening ; so that the 
Burnhams had a chance to assist at the unloading 
of the Christmas tree. 

They will also guess that Farmer Ross's house 
and his barn and his orchard and his pasture and 
his woods and his trout-brook and his blackberry 
bushes and his dog and his ponies and his cows 
and his oxen and his hens and pretty nearly every 
thing that was his had a chance to get very well 
acquainted with Win and Phil during the next 
summer vacation. It will be a long time, I am 
sure, before the Rosses and the Burnhams cease 
to be friends, and before any of them will forget 
The Strange Adventures of a Wood-Sled. 



I6 7 


She came to me one Christmas day, 
In paper, with a card to say : 

'"' From Santa Clans and Uncle John"- 
And not a stitch the child had on ! 

" I '11 dress you; never mind!" said I, 
•'■ " And brush your hair; now, don't you cry." 



First, I made her little hose, 

And shaped them nicely at the toes. 

"'-'\-v"J uVY^M h •- 1 


Then I bought a pair of shoes, — 
A lovely "dolly's number twos." 

, Next I made a petticoat; 

And put a chain around her throat. 




wmsm^ A -i, 


A ■'• 


Then, when she shivered, I made haste, 
And cut her out an undenvaist. 

o Next I made a pretty dress, 

It took me 'most a week, I guess. 

And then I named her Mary Ann, 
And gave the dear a paper fan. 

Next I made a velvet sacque 
That fitted nicely in the back, 

t8 7 9-] 




Then I trimmed a lovely hat, — 
Oh, how sweet she looked in that ! 

And dear, my sakes, that was n't all, 
I bought her next a parasol ! 

She looked so grand when she was dressed 
You really never would have guessed 
How very plain she seemed to be 
The day when first she came to me. 

Vol. VII.— 12. 




By Mariox Conant. 

"Well, girls, there is one way we can help 
both father and ourselves in these hard times," 
said Bessie Foot, while her elder sisters looked up 
from their occupations with kind, interested faces. 
" We can give up our birthdays or Christmas," 
began Bessie, slowly. 

" That is a good idea," broke in Emily, the 
older sister. "These numerous gift-days and 
pleasure-makings draw too heavily upon all our 

"But what will Joe say?" This time they 
nearly all spoke in concert. 

After a little pause, Bessie said, with hopeful 
decision : 

" Oh, perhaps he wont care." 

Now Joe was the last, but by no means the least, 
member in Mr. Foot's family. He had arrived 
late, after this goodly row of girls, and after his 
parents had given up an earlier and often ex- 
pressed desire that a boy might be among the 
number. And if helpful hands and warm hearts 
make the reception, Joe came 

— "to the world as a gentleman comes. 
To a lodging ready furnished." 

He was now twelve years old, but had not "worn 
out his welcome." Of a pliant, pleasant nature, he 
fully answered, so far, all the demands made upon 
him. No one had ever heard him speak a rough 
or unkind word, and in all the little affairs of 
every day he was easily helpful enough to satisfy 
his loving family. It is true Mr. Foot, who had 
struggled up through a hard and self-denying 
youth to an honorable position in the law, began 
to have some uneasiness about his son's char- 
acter, and to suffer the first disturbing and per- 
plexing doubt as to the future of a boy to whom 
life was such a holiday affair, and who would never 
be able, he feared, to take any other view of it. 

But these fatherly thoughts and fears Mr. Foot 
carefully kept to himself. His family was very 
loving and confiding, and Mr. Foot was not 
without courage ; but I doubt if he would have 
been willing to contemplate, even in the retire- 
ment of his own thoughts, the shock that would 
have come to all if this beloved son had been 
closely criticised. So Joe spent his thoughtless, 
pleasant days undisturbed by criticism, and when 
Bessie broached the question of the morning for 
her brother's decision — Christmas being nearly a 
year away and birthdays close at hand, — he chose 
in his easy way to keep the near pleasure, and so 

it came about that there was to be no Christmas 
celebration that year in Mr. Foot's house. 

Bessie's plan worked admirably. The birth- 
days, scattered through the year, had been made 
much of. and Joe's, coming late in September, 
had really been a great affair. Joe himself had 
enjoyed it wonderfully — even beyond his usual 
happy way. It was very gratifying to have so many 
new things in advance of all his playmates; even 
the latest fashioned sled had been procured by 
extra trouble and expense, and the balls and the 
books and the knives and the marbles were of the 
best, for " Joe is to have no presents at Christmas," 
was the often expressed reason for extra indulgence 
on this particular birthday. It was all very de- 
lightful, and it made Joe quite the hero of the 
autumn, creating any amount of envy in the minds 
of other boys who must wait until Christmas. 

But Christmas was drawing on, and Joe soon 
found himself face to face with an anticipation which 
was not pleasurable — an entirely new position in 
his experience. In fact, the numerous preparations 
in the world outside began to produce a slightly 
depressing sensation in other members of Mr. 
Foot's family; even Bessie, usually firm in her de- 
cisions, could not help wishing they had chosen 
Christmas and given up the birthdays. But it was 
too late now, so they all carefully avoided any 
allusion to the coming festival, each hoping by 
silence to create the impression in the others that 
the whole plan was eminently satisfactory. 

Mr. Foot, quietly reading, in his easy chair, was 
really the only one quite at ease, all the minds of 
the family being more or less ruffled, on Christmas 
eve, by some thoughts as to what might be going 
on in Joe's mind ; for, contrary to his custom, hi 
had betaken himself to bed at an unusually early 
hour. Mrs. Foot and her older daughters were 
busy with their sewing near the table where Mr. 
Foot was enjoying the cheerful fire and his evening 
paper, when Bessie suddenly broke into the room 
with the exclamation: "Joe has hung up his 
stockings ! " Mr. Foot laid his paper on his knees 
and the busy needles made slight pauses, but no 
one spoke. 

" He has hung up both ; he never hung up but 
one before ! " added Bessie, dropping helplessly 
into the nearest chair. 

"That was naughty in Joe," said Mrs. Foot, in 
a tone in which despair and apology were oddly 

i8 79 J 



Mr. Foot meditated, apparently unheeding, 
while the girls went on with their sewing. 

Some time elapsed, during which no one vent- 
ured a remark, and Mr. Foot still looked into 
the fire. Strangely vivid remembrances came to 
him of a country boy, long-forgotten Christmases, 
an empty stocking and a disappointed heart. He 
slowly took down his eye-glasses from their perch 
and put them in his pocket; he folded up his 
paper softly, and carefully laid it on the table, and 
with the air of a man who would rather the fact 
should not be observed, rose quietly from his chair 
and in a very indifferent voice said : 

" Bessie, will you hand me my coat?" 

"Why, are you going out?" exclaimed Mrs. 
Foot, looking up excitedly. 

" Yes, I think I will take a short walk," replied 
Mr. Foot, still indifferently, though knowing per- 
fectly well a walk was a most unusual performance 
for him in the evening after a busy day. 

" I believe I will go with you," said his wife, 
cheerily, and going at once for her hat and shawl. 

" Let us go, too," said all the girls, with that 
liveliness which indicates relief from a dilemma. 

All were soon ready, and, Mr. and Mrs. Foot 
leading the way, they were soon on the pavement 
of a well-lighted street, and moving with the crowd 
or pausing at the shop-w'indows to see the unusual 
and final attractions of the season. 

If people would dream facts instead of dreaming 
dreams. Joe Foot might have smiled to himself as 
he lay asleep in his little bedroom in sole posses- 
sion of the house, while the whole family had gone 
off, moved by one impulse, on an errand which 
not one of them would have told to another. Joe 
awake and on his feet might have been resisted ; 
but Joe asleep, with those two expectant stockings 
yawning in the basement, was an impersonation 
of that faith which moves mountains. It all came 
about very naturally and easily, Mr. Foot himself, 
first expressing some regret that the knife he gave 
Joe on his birthday had not been of a better 
quality, and, now that the boy had lost it, it 
seemed only fair to get him another. This accom- 
plished at the first cutlery store, his mother fol- 
lowed in the purchase of a new boy's-book, which 
she very mu,ch regretted she had not heard of in 
time to get for his birthday. His sisters, too, 

remembered various little things that Joe liked, or 
had their memories quickened by the sight of new 
devices for good boys, as they walked along, and so 
they were each well laden with Christmas things 
when they finally reached their own door. 

I cannot doubt that Joe smiled then in his 
sleep, and if the faithful stockings ran over with 
their numerous gifts, the family wisely concluded 
not to make any remarks that might bring into 
light the inconsistency of the givers' purposes 
and actions. 

The next morning, all but Joe awoke with a 
slight feeling of uncertainty whether it was Sunday 
or some other day. Joe knew before he was awake 
that it was n't Sunday, still, he did feel a little 
doubtful if it was Christmas. 

But stowed away in a seldom-used nook of his 
closet were some very good reminders of Christ- 
mas, until he should descend to the basement. 
Joe's father would have been pleased enough if he 
could have looked into his boy's closet just then, as 
Joe was taking out from their hiding-place six 
small packages, all neatly wrapped and tied with 
long loops, so that they could be hung on door- 
knobs. These presents he had purchased with 
some money given him to spend for himself. 

With the little bundles arranged on his arm 
for distribution, he stole softly in his stocking-feet 
through the hall, hanging each article on its re- 
spective knob, without disturbing the occupants of 
the rooms, who were still cozily abed. 

This done, Joe went on to the basement in easy 
hopefulness. And he was not doomed to disap- 
pointment, the contents of the crowded stockings 
yielding more than a usual amount of joy and 

And when the family came down to breakfast, 
how delightful it all was ! Every one was so 
pleased with the pretty present Joe had purchased 
for them, that it was a long time before the happy 
family could subside to the formality of the morn- 
ing meal. Joe himself became conscious of a 
higher pleasure than Christmas had heretofore 
brought, when his father expressed his hearty satis- 
faction in the gift his son had, unassisted, given 
him ; and, turning to his youngest daughter, he 
said: "Bessie, let us have Christmas next year," 
which caused a general smile all around. 





*■ '& 

ga mm ■ 

By Palmer Cox. 

There was a funny mandarin 

Who had a funny^ay, 
Of sliding down theTwdustrade 

A dozen times a day. 

With arms in air and streaming hair, 
At risk of bone and brain, 

Around and round the winding stair 
He slid the rail amain. 








By A. P. C. 

Have you ever heard the name of the great 
sculptor, Thorvaldsen ? Have you not frequently 
seen photographs, engravings, or plaster casts, 
representing his medallions of "Morning" and 
"Night," — pictures of which we give, — the first a 
swiftly-flying angel, strewing flowers through the air, 
while a cherub clinging to her shoulder holds aloft a 
glowing torch ; the second, a somber spirit, floating 
dreamily onward, her head bowed forward, two 
slumbering babes in her arms, and an owl follow- 
ing in her wake. Thorvaldsen sculptured those 
at Rome, half a century ago", when rising to the 
height of his fame. 

He was born at Copenhagen, Denmark, Novem- 
ber 19, 1770. His father's name was Gottskalk 
Thorvaldsen ; his mother's, Karen Gronlund. She 
was the daughter of a peasant, but his father was 
a carver of wood. Little Albert — that was Thor- 
valdsen's name — used frequently to play in his 
father's work-shop, watching whatever was going 
on, and, not many years ago, there were old car- 
penters in Copenhagen who could well remember 
him as a pretty child, with blue eyes and golden 
hair, following his father. He was a gentle, pleas- 
ant-tempered little fellow, and this sometimes led 
his comrades to play tricks upon him. 

Monsieur Pion, one of Thorvaldsen's biog- 
raphers, from whose work many of the facts in this 
paper have been gleaned, and from which several 
of our engravings were copied, relates many anec- 
dotes which give us good pictures of the sculptor 
in his infancy. 

When Albert, or Bertel as his family used to call 
him, grew older, he went to his father's workshop, 
not merely to watch, but to help with the work. 
Gottskalk Thorvaldsen's chief occupation was carv- 
ing roughly made wooden statues, to be placed as 
figure-heads in the bows of vessels, just under their 
bowsprits. After a little practice, Bertel did as well 
as his father, and at length it began to be seen that 
in some points he did even better. Gottskalk him- 
self was no artist, but he soon saw that his son 
might become one, if properly educated. He 
therefore took him away from the workshop and 
sent him to the free school of the Royal Academy 
of Fine Arts. Bertel was only eleven years old 
then, but he worked enthusiastically and made 
rapid progress. At the same time, he went on 
helping his father, and, after that, it was said 
that Gottskalk's figure-heads grew handsomer and 
more natural-looking every year. 

Young Thorvaldsen was not a perfect character, 
and was by no means as fond of all his studies as 
he was of drawing and modeling. He loved art, 
but reading and writing and recitations were trou- 
blesome to him. Indeed, his school-master, Herr 
Chaplain Hover, had come to the conclusion that 
Bertel was a dunce, and would always be in the 
lowest class. But something happened to change 
his opinion. 

There was a distribution of prizes at the Fine 
Arts Academy, and a certain young Thorvaldsen 
received the silver medal. Next morning, Herr 
Hoyer read about it in the newspaper. Of course, 
it could not be the dunce, he thought, but it might 
be some relative, whom he could hold up to the 
lad as an example of industry. So, when Bertel 
came in, the chaplain said : 

"Thorvaldsen, is it a brother of yours who has 
just taken a prize at the Academy?" 

"It is myself, Herr Chaplain," was the reply, 
and the modest lad was covered with confusion. 

Herr Hoyer gazed at him in astonishment. 
Then he said in a very changed voice: 

" Herr Thorvaldsen, please to pass up to the 
first class." 

This was felt to be a great honor to Bertel, — not 
only the sending him to the first class, but the call- 
ing him " Herr." " Herr" means " Master," and 
though the boys always applied it to their teachers, 
the teachers rarely, if ever, applied it to one of the 
scholars. Thorvaldsen said afterward, that none of 
the distinctions he enjoyed in later years gave him 
quite as much pleasure as this first one. 

Thorvaldsen was seventeen years old when he 
took this silver medal and received the title of 
"Herr." His success inspired him to work harder 
than ever ; and gave him bright hope for the 
future. He was a quiet, reserved youth ; seldom 
laughed and talked ; and when he began his day's 
task, no jesting of his companions could divert his 

He worked with tremendous earnestness. 

When Bertel was niWteen, Gottskalk began to 
think that he had studied enough; he wanted him 
in his workshop. When he had thought of mak- 
ing Bertel an artist, it was only an artist in wood- 
carving he had had in mind ; the idea that his boy 
could become an illustrious sculptor, had never 
occurred to him. 

But Abildgaard, Bertel's art-teacher, saw the 
future more clearly ; and, at last, after urgent 




appeals, he succeeded in persuading Gottskalk to 
allow his son to divide his time equally between 
work in the shop and study at the Academy. 
There is now in the Thorvaldsen museum at Co- 
penhagen a large wooden clock, which Thorvald- 
sen and his father carved at this period. 

Bertel's first work that attracted notice was a 
medallion of the Princess of Denmark, made when 
he was twenty years of age. It was taken from a 
poor picture of her ; but was a good likeness, and 
was much admired. 

When he was twenty-one, he took another prize, 
— the gold medal ; and at twenty-three he took a 
still higher prize, which after two years was to give 
him a pension, enabling him to study at Rome for 
three years, without expense to himself. Mean- 
while, he gave lessons in drawing and modeling, 
took portraits, and made drawings for publishers. 
Abildgaard continued to encourage him, and the 
Academy gave him some assistance. 

On the 20th of May, 1796, Thorvaldsen em- 
barked for Naples, and he soon became a favorite 
with the captain and all on board. But, much as 
they liked him, all agreed that he was very, very 
lazy. It was a weak point in Thorvaldsen's char- 
acter, that he cared little for anything not immedi- 
ately connected with his art. Here, for example, 
were persons on board who were willing to teach 
him to speak Italian ; but, although going to live 
in Italy, he preferred perfect idleness to the effort 
of acquiring that country's language. He had 
ample leisure to read or study; but he liked better 
to play with his dog, Hector. 

On the 8th of March, 1797, the sculptor reached 
Rome. He used to say afterward that on that day 
he was born. 

Thorvaldsen's life at Rome was very interesting, 
but not, at first, very easy. His pension from the 
Danish Academy was small, he suffered at times 
from a return of an illness which had attacked him 
at Naples, and he often was glad to paint small 
figures in the pictures of a landscape artist in order 
to gain a little money. Perhaps he suffered some- 
what, too, on account of his own ignorance. A 
friend of his at this time wrote concerning him : 
" He is an excellent artist, with a great deal of 
taste and sentiment, but ignorant of everything 
outside of art. * * * * Without knowing a word 
of Italian or French, without the slightest acquaint- 
ance with history and mythology, how is it possible 
for an artist properly to pursue his studies here? 
I do not expect him to be learned, — that I should 
not even desire ; but he should have some faint idea 
of the names and meanings of the things he sees." 

For six years the Danish Academy supported 
Thorvaldsen in Rome, but that was the utmost it 
could do. During that time, he had rooms with 

another young artist, a German landscape painter, 
and he worked diligently, but not on things likely 
to bring him fame or money. He made copies of 
the statues about him, producing very little that 
was original. At last, however, he made a model 
for an original statue of "Jason." But no one 
seemed to admire it very much, and he destroyed 
it. A year later he made another. This was more 
successful ; but it might have met with the same 
fate, had not a friend advanced the money to have 
it cast in plaster. The statue was exhibited, and 
created a great sensation in Rome. People crowded 
to see it, and the best artists praised it highly. 
Canova, the greatest sculptor of his day, said : 
' • Here is a work in a new and lofty style ! " 
Thorvaldsen was delighted ; and yet what was he 
to do ? No one ordered this great statue in mar- 
ble. There were war troubles in Europe, and 
people were not in the mood to pay large sums of 
money for works of art, however admirable. 

The Danish Academy could no longer keep 
Thorvaldsen in Rome, and slowly and sadly he 
prepared for his return home. It was hard to give 
up his opportunities just when success seemed near. 
However, he packed his trunks, sold his furniture 
and plaster casts, and was all ready to start, when 
the friend with whom he was going told him that 
there was some trouble about getting passports, 
and that they would have to wait. A few hours 
later, Thomas Hope, a wealthy English banker, 
came into Thorvaldsen's studio, and, seeing the 
" Jason," was lost in admiration of its beauty. He 
did not know that Thorvaldsen was going away, 
and so he asked him what he would charge to 
produce the work in marble. 

Thorvaldsen was so excited that he named a very 
low price. 

"That is not enough," said the liberal banker, 
and he offered more. 

An agreement was quickly made, and Thorvald- 
sen remained in Rome. 

Thenceforward, Thorvaldsen's career was pros- 
perous, and he received a great many orders. 
He visited much at the house of Baron William 
von Humboldt, the great naturalist-traveler, where 
he met many persons who became his warm and 
trusted friends. The King of Denmark made him 
a knight ; Prince Louis of Bavaria corresponded 
with him ; Prince Christian Frederick of Denmark 
wrote to him. But Thorvaldsen moved in all 
ranks: his shoemaker was one of his intimate 
friends, the King of Bavaria another. He re- 
spected every person who did his work well, was 
kind to all, and the " Cavaliere Alberto," as the 
Italians called him, was a general favorite. 

When the Prince of Denmark wrote, it was to 
tell him about a white marble quarry just discovered 




in Norway, and to invite him to return to Copen- 
hagen, where he should be received with royal 
favor. But Thorvaldsen could not go. Napoleon 
had just ordered him to make in marble a grand 
frieze of "Alexander the Great entering Babylon," 
and the sculptor was very busy with other works 
besides. When this great frieze was finished, how- 
ever, Napoleon was in exile at Elba ! Nearly at 
the same time, the sculptor received an order from 


the Polish government for two statues ; but illness 
delayed work on them, and, when they were com- 
pleted — there was no Poland ! This was bad luck 
certainly, but after a while he found purchasers for 
all these productions. The frieze was considered a 
masterpiece, and the Danish government ordered 
a copy of it in plaster. 

All this time, what do you suppose was the fate 
of Mr. Hope's " Jason " ? It was not even begun ! 
Thorvaldsen had got out of the humor of making 
it, and on one pretext or another delayed and de- 
layed, till in the end it was more than twenty years 
before Mr. Hope received it. Probably, Thorvald- 
sen felt that he had done more wrong than could 
be easily repaired, for he sent with the "Jason" 
several smaller pieces of statuary, to make amends. 

From time to time, Thorvaldsen suffered from 
slight attacks of the fever he had had in Naples, 
and some of his dearest friends died ; but he always 
found comfort in his work. He had a great many 
pupils and workmen under him. His custom was 
to make the model of some work in clay ; his work- 
men would hew the great blocks of marble into 
shape ; then his pupils, under his directions, would 

begin the statues, and when they had gone far 
enough, he would take the chisel and add the fin- 
ishing touches himself. He had more orders than 
he could execute, and was often forced to refuse 
distinguished people, or else keep them waiting till 
they were quite out of patience. 

Besides his works made to order, his fertile ima- 
gination was always prompting him to execute 
some new and beautiful idea. In 18 15 he pro- 
duced his beautiful "Night" and "Morning." 
Later, he produced the "Lion of Lucerne," — cut in 
rock at Lucerne, Switzerland, — in honor of those 
members of the Swiss Guard who died in defend- 
ing the Tuileries, during the French revolution, 
August 10, 1792. This great piece of sculpture 
shows a lion, wounded by a lance, which has been 
broken off in its side. It shelters, with one of its 
paws, a shield on which are the arms of the 
French king, in whose defense the Swiss Guards, 
symbolized by the lion, laid down their lives. 
The statue stands on a most beautiful spot by 
the Lake of Lucerne. About the same time, 
Thorvaldsen restored the ALgina. marbles. These 
were ancient statues very much broken, found in 
the island of yEgina in 1S11. The Prince of 
Bavaria bought them and sent them to Thorvald- 
sen for restoration. No one without a thorough 
knowledge of Greek art could have done this work ; 
but Thorvaldsen did it so well and accurately that, 
when all was completed, it was almost impossible 
to discover where additions 
had been made. 

In 1819, Thorvaldsen re- 
turned to Copenhagen for 
a year's visit. The students 
turned out to welcome him, 
cannons were fired, the 
poet Oehlenschlaegermade 
an address, and a grand 
banquet was given. The 
royal family were very kind 
to him ; and, as it was not 
customary for a common 
citizen to visit the king, 
His Majesty made him 
Councillor of State so as 
to enjoy the pleasure of 
Thorvaldsen's society with- 
out violating etiquette.* 

Rooms were prepared 
for the sculptor at the 
Academy of Fine Arts. 
When he arrived, the old 
janitor, who had been a 

model for the students during Thorvaldsen's boy- 
hood, opened the door for him. They recognized 
each other at once, and had an affecting meeting. 


i8 7 9-] 



But Thorvaldsen had little peace in this studio. 
Visitors crowded to see him all day long ; every 
one interested in art wanted to see him, or ask his 
advice about something. At this time, he was 
commissioned to ornament with sculpture the 
beautiful new church, called the Frue Kirke, or 
Church of Our Lady, and his " Christ and the 
Twelve Apostles," "Christ's Entry into Jerusalem," 
and several other religious pieces, are the results. 

On his way back to Rome, Thorvaldsen traveled 
through Germany, and at Warsaw the Emperor 
Alexander of Russia allowed him to take his bust, 
which was a great honor, for he had refused to let 
even Canova do so only a short time before. It 
was profitable, also, for a great many copies of the 
bust were ordered. The emperor gave Thorvald- 
sen a diamond ring; when he was ill sent his own 

homeward journey is like a romantic fairy-tale. 
A steamer, called the "Queen Maria," was sent 
to meet the frigate, crowded with people who 

longed to welcome Thorvaldsen. Salutes were 
fired. The "Queen Maria " steamed around the 
"Rota," the band playing, and the people shout- 
ing and singing choruses. At night, there was 
a splendid aurora borealis, and it seemed as 
though his native sky, as well as his countrymen, 
were rejoicing at his return. In Copenhagen, the 
people were wild with excitement. There was 
shouting all through the city, and crowds rushed 
to the landing ; the docks, and the roofs of the 
houses near by were covered with spectators, and, 
notwithstanding the rain, splendid preparations 
were made. Barges, beautifully decorated, be- 
longing to different societies, started to meet the 

doctor to attend to him, and showed him many 
marks of favor. 

In 1829, Louis, formerly Prince, but now King, 
of Bavaria, came again to Rome, and was as inti- 
mate as ever with Thorvaldsen. Horace Vernet, 
the great French painter ; Mendelssohn, the com- 
poser, who used to play on the piano for him in his 
studio while he worked; Ricci, a learned Italian 
poet ; Lord Byron, and Sir Walter Scott, were 
among Thorvaldsen's best friends. 

In 1837, Thorvaldsen decided to return to Den- 
mark. But just as he was about to depart, the 
cholera broke out in Rome* and raged so fearfully 
that the people in the surrounding country, fear- 
ing contagion, would not allow any one to leave 
the city. When at last the cholera passed away, 
the King of Denmark sent the frigate " Rota" to 
bring him and all his works home. 

The voyage was very pleasant, and on Septem- 
ber 15th, 1838, the ship entered the harbor of 
Copenhagen. From this time, the record of the 


"Rota." Students, poets, artists, mechanics, — ■ 
all classes were there. Flags of every color were 
flying, many ornamented with Thorvaldsen's own 
designs. When the boats had proceeded a certain 

1 7 8 



distance, the crews all singing a beautiful chorus 
composed in Thorvaldsen's honor, they divided 
into two lines, and, as the " Rota " passed between 
them, a magnificent rainbow appeared in the 
heavens; and, when it faded away, the clouds 
vanished, and the sun shone forth in all its 

Then the boats crowded around the frigate, and 
all who could do so clambered on board to catch a 
glimpse of the great sculptor. Indeed, the throng 
was so dense that Thorvaldsen's friends were 
alarmed and hurried him off in one of the small 

When Thorvaldsen landed, the crowd was so 
thick he could hardly get to the carriage which was 
waiting for him, and it was not until he reached 
the palace of Charlottenborg that he discovered 
that the horses had been taken away, and that the 
people had drawn him along. The palace was 
decorated with flowers. The square on which it 
faced was a solid mass of human beings, even the 
trees and lamp-posts being covered with eager 
boys. As the palace gates closed, the crowd be- 
came almost fierce, and refused to disperse until 
they had seen their honored and beloved country- 
man. So Thorvaldsen came out on the balcony 
and bowed to the multitude, who received him 
with long and loud hurrahs. 

At night there was a grand torch-light proces- 
sion, and for days and weeks one entertainment 
after another followed in the sculptor's honor, till 
there seemed a danger that he would be almost 
killed with kindness. 

About this time Thorvaldsen became intimate 
with Baron von Stampe and his family. They had 
a beautiful country seat at Nysoe, near the city, 
where they made him quite at home, giving him a 
room to work in ; and, after a while, he got into the 
habit of spending half of his time there, and half 
at Copenhagen. Whenever he wanted quiet, he 
went to Nysoe. Once, when' he had been there 
some days, he went to the city, promising to be 
back in a week. When he returned, he found a 
beautiful new studio built in the garden for him. 
It was a surprise that the Baroness had planned, 
and there was a fine celebration when he took pos- 
session of the building. 

One day, the Baroness persuaded him to make a 
statue of himself. While he was at work upon it, 
soon after, the Baroness looking on, he received a 
letter from the Danish poet, Oehlenschaeger, who 
inquired anxiously when his bust could be made. 
They had been laughing together a little, that the 
poet should seem so desirous of being immortalized 
in this way, when Thorvaldsen suddenly said: 

" It is very well for me to jest at the vanity of 
others, when I, myself, at this very moment, am 

engaged in making a monument to my own 
vanity ! " 

With that, he threw away his tools and would 
have broken the statue, had not the Baroness 
pulled him quickly out of the studio, locked the 
door, and told him she would not give him the key 
again, until he had promised to finish the work for 

At Nysoe, Thorvaldsen used to meet Hans 
Christian Andersen, who would often make the 
evenings pass delightfully, telling wonderful fairy 
stories, which pleased the grown people as much 
as the children. 

Thorvaldsen still worked industriously, and went 
about cheerfully among his fellow-men. He was 
very generous to others, but parsimonious to him- 
self. He would pay a high price for a picture to 
encourage some young artist, or would give a 
handful of money to some poor woman in distress, 
but he cared little for luxuries on his own account. 

In 1S41, Thorvaldsen made one more trip to 
Rome. He went through Germany, as before, but 
his fame had grown still greater in the interval, 
and he was enthusiastically greeted at Berlin, 
Dresden, Leipsic, Munich, — indeed, wherever he 
went, both by the people and their sovereigns. In 
September, he arrived in Rome, and he remained 
about a year, revisiting all the old haunts and 
enjoying the companionship of former friends. 

In 1842, he returned to Copenhagen, and there 
found completed the museum for his works, built 
by the architect Bindesboll, at the order of the city 
of Copenhagen. The mayor received him in the 
new edifice and took him all through it, showing 
where his various treasures were to be placed, and 
even leading him to the inner court, where he was 
one day to be buried. Thorvaldsen looked at it 
seriously, — he felt he soon must leave this life, — he 
was an old man. 

Thorvaldsen was now not so strong as he had 
been. Once in a while came a day when he did 
not feel well. One morning he complained to 
his servant that he did not feel right, but he went 
on working as usual. The Baroness von Stampe 
came in and invited him to dinner, but he said he 
did not feel well enough to go. She still urged 
him to come, and then, thinking that perhaps he 
would feel better for going out, he agreed to ac- 
company her. He had been working on a bust of 
Luther, but threw down his bust and clay and went 
out. They paid a few visits, and then went to the 
Baron's and dined. Thorvaldsen was in good 
spirits, and when the museum was spoken of, said, 
cheerfully : 

"Now I can die at any time, — Bindesboll has 
finished my tomb." 

After dinner he went to the theater. A lady 




noticed him leaning over and asked if he had lost was carried by forty artists. The King and Prince 
anything. He did not answer. He was dead, were present ; a wreath of flowers, woven by the 
This mournful event occurred March 24th, 1844. Queen's own hands, was on the coffin, — the sculp- 


The news soon spread all over the city and 
caused great grief. On the 30th of March, 1844, 
his funeral took place, and it was as if a king 
had died. The houses were draped in mourning, 
and a long procession followed the coffin, which 

tor's chisel lying by its side. He now lies in the 
tomb prepared for him in the Museum, which 
building contains his works from the time he 
carved the old wooden clock with his father, 
until the day when he left his half-finished bust of 




Martin Luther, and the handful of clay with the 
tool sticking in it, — which also are in the Museum 
under glass. And there, also, are copies in plaster 
of many of his statues, owned in other countries. 

besides his own collection of art treasures. On 
the preceding pages are pictures of his " Mercury," 
a very famous statue, and of a beautiful sculpture, 
in bass-relief, called the "Nest of Loves." 



There is a peculiar class of people, living in Jutland, called the Molbos, of whom a great number of tales are 
told. From the earliest days, these people have been known for their ingenuity and simplicity, and hence 
many remarkable things are told about them. Two of the stories about their curious actions are given below. 


ONCE, in the summer, when the corn stood high, 
a stork was often seen in the fields belonging to the 
Molbos, stalking up and down in the grain-patches 
to catch frogs. This annoyed the Molbos greatly, 
for they thought the long-legged bird trod down a 
vast deal of grain. Thev therefore consulted 

how to drive the animal away, and the conclusion 
was, that the herder of their village should go into 
the fields and chase the bird out. But as he went 
in for the stork, they noticed that his feet were 
very large and broad, and it occurred to them that 
the herder would trample down more grain than the 
stork. Then they again puzzled their brains what to 
do and how to get rid of the stork. But one of the 

i8 7 9-; 



party spoke up at last with the sensible advice that 
they might carry the herder through the grain, so 
that he should not tread it down. This idea was 
approved by all. They therefore went forth and 
took one of the fence-gates off its hinges, made 
the herder sit down on it, and eight men lifted the 
gate to their shoulders and carried the herder 
through the corn where the stork was, so that he 
might drive it away. Thus the herder was kept 
from trampling down the grain with his big feet. 


One year, when salt herring were more expen- 
sive than usual, the Molbos thought they could not 
afford to buy them, although forming their prin- 
cipal winter food. They therefore deliberated what 
could be done to escape the high prices for the 

One of the deepest thinkers among them sug- 
gested at last that, as fresh herring would multiply 
in the water, there was no reason why salt herring 
should not do the same. He therefore advised 
them once for all to buy a barrel of salt herring in 
the city, and empty the herring in their pond, and 
they could then every year catch as many as they 
wanted when the herring had hatched. They ap- 

proved of this advice ; the salt herring were bought 
and thrown into the pond, so as to multiply for the 
next season. Next year, the Molbos came with 
their nets to catch the herring; but, do what they 
would, they could not catch a single one. At 
length, they caught a large fat eel in one of their 

As soon as the Molbos saw the eel, they at once 
concluded that this was the wicked thief that had 
devoured their salt herring, and they therefore 
agreed that he should be put to death. But how 
to do this was not so easily decided. At last an 
old Molbo came forward who once had been near 
drowning, and hence had conceived a great dread 
for salt water. He advised them to take it out on 
the ocean and drown it. The advice was consid- 
ered good, and they took the eel with them in 
their boat and rowed out for some distance, so that 
the eel should not swim back. When they had 
reached what they thought a safe distance, they 
threw the creature overboard. The eel enjoyed the 
return to its own element, and wriggled its tail as 
soon as it felt itself in the water. The old Molbo, 
seeing this, exclaimed to his companions: "Do 
you notice how frightened he is? See how he 
squirms and twists with terror ! " 





Each little bird within its nest, 
Thinks its parents love it best ; 
But the old birds cannot tell 
Why they love them all so well. 



I8 3 

Sometimes, great wasps come buzzing near, 
And fill the birdies' hearts with fear. 
" You cruel things," the young birds say, 
" You know that mother is away ! " 

1 84 



And when these birdies wish to try 
If they are strong enough to fly, 
The whole nest-full will gather round 
To see one flutter to the ground. 




In summer, when they 're larger grown, 
They '11 sit upon a window stone, 
And sing a morning song of joy 
To some kind little girl or boy. 

Vol. VII.— 13. 






Christmas is coming ! Be ready for it, 


hearties ! — ready for it in heart, soul, and body — 
yes, and now you mention it, in stockings and 
Christmas trees ! Winter snow, winter sunshine, 
winter cheer, winter goodiness, winter badiness, 
fun for many, work for many, and a real good time 
all around ! That seems to be the rule, and, of 
course, it is n't for Jack-in-the-Pulpit to go against 
it. He does n't go against it. He is for it, through 
and through ; and, wishing you, one and all, a 
happy, beautiful time, he hereby presents to you 
this lovely number of St. Nicholas. 

(Confidential. — He has n't seen it yet, but he 
supposes it is lovely.) 

Now, here is something to set your young hearts 
aglow ! 


The very coldest cold that the wisest among the 
wise folk can make ! It is two hundred and twelve 
degrees below freezing point. A good friend, who 
himself saw its effects, has explained to me all 
about it. 

This cold was made by mixing ether with frozen 
carbonic acid, — ahem ! How learned it makes one 
feel to use such words ! 

If you don't quite call to mind what the words 
mean, my dears, why — there 's the dictionary ; no 
doubt that will help you. 

At a touch of this cold mixture, flowing quick- 
silver was turned into a solid, which the maker 
hammered, and cut, and worked, just as if it had 
been an ordinary metal. But if he had touched it 
with his uncovered hand, it would have acted like 
red-hot iron, so suddenly would it have taken 
away the heat from him, excepting that in the case 
of the hot iron he would have taken the heat of 
the iron. 

He filled some molds with quicksilver, and 

dipped them into the freezing mixture. The molds 
were emptied on a marble mantel in a cold room, 
and out of them came a beautiful castle, brighter 
than polished silver ! The quicksilver was'actually 
frozen so hard that the castle did not melt for some 


SOME of my friends the birds sing so sweetly 
that men are glad to keep them in cages, just to 
enjoy their songs ; and I am always hearing of their 
new ways of catching the poor things. Here, 
now, is a method followed jn France : 

Some clear morning of early winter, when the 
fields are bare, and the frost already sparkles on 
bush and hedge-row, a man sets up, on the top of a 
hill, a reflector made of thousands of little mirrors 
arranged together. Up in the blue sky the lark is 
pouring forth a morning psalm, when, all at once, 
a bright sunbeam is reflected full upon him. The 
dazzling ray seems to him to come from a new sun, 
and it acts as a magic charm, bewildering him, and 
drawing him toward the reflector. After fluttering 
in and out of the beam in a puzzled way, the bird 
yields to the fascination. Lower and lower he 
flies, following the course of the ray as it is made 
gradually to descend, until, at last, the sweet-voiced 
creature alights in a net spread to receive him, and 
he becomes a prisoner. 

May be, his owner will take good care of him, if 
only on account of his song. At any rate, perhaps 
it is a comfort to him that no hawks can reach him 
in his cage. But what will his poor wife and little 
ones say, when they find that he does not come 


Buckingham, Pa. 

Dear Jack : I know that you and your dear little schoolma'am 
are interested in schools and school-children everywhere, so I will tell 
you what my little scholars have been doing. 

I furnish all the pupils with papers about as large as a fourth of a 
sheet of note-paper ; on these they write any facts that they learn 
outside of school-books and school-hours, by making good use of 
their eyes and ears. When the papers are full they are placed on file 
on my desk, and the best items, to the great satisfaction of their 
authors, are neatly copied in a blank-book kept for the purpose. 

The pupils range from ten to sixteen years of age ; here are some 
of their gleanings : 

" Icebergs are as large as our school-house, and they upset ships." 

" Cows have no upper teeth." 

" Bats have little, sharp teeth ; when you touch them they open 
their mouths and make a noise ; they have large wings ; they cannot 
see to fly in the day-time." 

" Madame Roland could read when she was four years old." 

" Hawks catch hens and kill them." 

" I saw a little ant carry a little piece of bread into a little round 

" An ant-lion is an insect that crawls backward; it makes round 
holes in the sand ; the ants fall into the holes and then the ant-lion 
eats them." 

" George Stephenson, the inventor of the steam-engine, at the age 
of thirty was struggling through the Rule of Three." 

Respectfully yours, E. L 


No, it is n't frozen salt; and it is n't under the 
ground. It is in - summer time, and open to the 
sky. And this is the explanation as it came to 
your Jack : 

In Siberia, where this wonder is to be found, the 
summer heat is intense, and turns the upper part 
of the waters of the lake into a light mist, which 
floats away into the air. The change from water 



I8 7 

i:o mist takes place so quickly, that large masses 
of salt are left in solid crystals, which cake to- 
gether, arching slightly over the water, and form- 
ing a roof eight or nine inches thick, so strong 
that beasts of burden pass over it in safety, draw- 
ing their loads behind them. 

Now, is this salt roof good to skate on ? That is 
the question ; but, unfortunately, your Jack can- 
not answer it. 


YOUR Jack knows of a dear old bachelor who 
built a gay little bird-house, and set it high on 
a pole where cats could n't reach it. This pretty 
house had all sorts of cozy little rooms, and in them 
some sparrows made their nests. It was not long 
before numbers of little sparrows were hatched, 
and, in course of time, the birds became so many 
that, when the snow lay thick upon the ground, 
some of them could 't get enough to eat. 


One Christmas eve, when the birds were cuddled 
all close together in their homes, fast asleep, their 
friend called to mind a kindly custom of the people 
in Northern Europe, and resolved to make a joyful 
Christmas surprise for his little lodgers. So he 
hunted through all the town until he found a sheaf 
of wheat, — a rare thing in winter. Then he silently 
set up a step-ladder, in the darkness, and hung 
the sheaf close under the bird-house. 

At daylight, on Christmas morning, he tiptoed 

to the window in the nipping cold. The sheaf 
was crowded ! Every ear was bending and sway- 
ing beneath a happy little bird. And such a 
cheery chirp and chatter as there was ! — Not very 
musical, you say ? But it made a delightful Christ- 
mas carol for the good-hearted old bachelor. 


Did you ever hear, my young philosophers, that 
a fire can be lighted with ice ? 

Well, it can be, they tell me. 

This is the way : Put a little heap of gunpowder 
close to one end of a fuse, which is a kind of wick 
soaked in saltpeter and dried ; get a round lump 
of ice ten feet across, and shaped like a magnifying 
glass that swells out at both sides ; and then set 
up the ice so that it will gather the sun's rays, 
"focus" them, that is, on the gunpowder. The 
heap will blaze up ; the fuse will catch ; and there 
is your fire ! 

I know it would be quite impossible for you to 
get this great lens of ice ; but you can rely upon 
the correctness of the directions, at any rate. 

This experiment succeeded, not long ago, in En- 
gland ; and your Jack has heard of a similar thing 
being done by smart voyagers in the Arctic regions. 


Somebody sends me word that once the people 
of Jutland, a part of Denmark, had forgotten how 
to make a beautiful kind of lace called "Tondee," 
and so a number of them went to another country 
to find some one who could teach them. They 
brought back twelve old men, who knew the art 
well. These old men had long white beards, and, 
while they were making lace, they kept their beards 
in bags, so that the hair might not get tangled up 
with the threads of their bobbins. Now, what a 
funny picture St. Nicholas might make of these 
twelve Tondee makers ! 


Dear Jack : As you no doubt are well acquainted with the Bats, 
perhaps you will not mind asking them if their histories mention the 
following occurrence: 

An Englishman, named Vernon, claimed that once, while shooting 
hyenas near Carthage, in Africa, he stumbled, and fell many fathoms 
down into an old well. Instead of being killed by the fall, as he ex- 
pected, he alighted unhurt on a feather-bed, as it were. He soon felt 
that he was moving gently upward; and, by degrees, without any 
effort of his own, he reached the opening of the well. Then he found 
that he had fallen on an immense mass of bats, who, awakened from 
their slumbers, had flown up, and brought him with them ! 

That is Mr Vernon's account, and now I think we ought to hear, 
if possible, what those bats said about it. — Truly yours, S. 

Bats never stop near Jack's Pulpit long enough 
for him to exchange words with them ; so, of 
course, he can't put to them S.'s question about 
those forefathers of theirs who lived near Carthage. 

Bats are social enough among themselves, I 'm 
told, but they don't like to be intruded upon ; and 
Mr. Vernon must have paid his sudden visit when 
they were in a very good humor, or he would not 
have been shown to the door so obligingly. 

Deacon Green suggests that this well may have 
been the very one mentioned in the proverb, and 
that Mr. Vernon might have found Truth at the 
bottom, if he had gone deep enough. 

1 88 




All our boys and girls who like to ask questions will be glad to 
hear of " The Young Folks' Cyclopaedia of Common Things," a 
new book, by John D. Champlin, Jr., and published by Henry Holt 
& Co., New-York. How many questions you young folks ask of 
older ones every day! Some of these the old folks answer; but 
sometimes they are too busy, and sometimes they don't know. And 
how many questions you would like to ask that you never do ask, 
for fear of being troublesome! Now, if you have one of these cyclo- 
paedias, instead of asking questions, you look in your book, and 
there is your answer. A cyclopaedia, you know, does not merely 
give definitions, like a dictionary. It tells a good deal about every- 
thing that it mentions at all. For instance, if a boy wants to know 
about bees, he can turn to the word "bee," in the cyclopaedia, and 
find out all about their habits and food, etc. A girl hears a good 
deal said about the telephone, but does not quite understand what it 
is. She will find it described in this cyclopaedia in language that she 
can enmprehend. There are cyclopaedias for grown folks, but these 
are full of terms that some children cannot understand, and they are 
generally in many volumes. But this is in one volume, and is of a 
convenient size to keep on your book-shelves at home, or to take to 
school with you. It treats of common things. It does not include 
matters of history and biography, but is full of interesting facts, and 
contains numerous pictures, that help to make the meaning plain. 
It is printed in clear, distinct type, on good paper. 

Of all the pretty and dainty books you ever saw, one of the very 
prettiest and daintiest is called " Under the'Window," and is pub- 
lished by Routledge of New York and London. It is full of charm- 
ing little songs and verses, and has hundreds of pictures, — still more 
charming,— drawn by Miss Kate Greenaway, the English lady who 
drew the quaint little lads and maidens for "Children's Day at St 
Paul's " and " Beating the Bounds," published in St. Nicholas for 
January, 1S79, and April, 1879. 

The pictures in "Under the Window" are all printed in colors, 
and are as full of life and beauty and jollity as pictures can be made. 
Every child will like this book, and every grown person of taste will 
want to look over it himself, and then give it to some child who 
deserves to be made happy. 

E. P. Dutton & Co., of NewYork, have just published two books, 
written by Olive Thorne Miller. One of these books, called " Little 
Folks in Feathers and Fur, and Others in Neither," is made up of a 
great many stories about birds, beasts, insects, and fishes, with lots 
of pictures. The other book is " Nimpo's Troubles." Many of 
our readers who have been acquainted with St. Nicholas from 
the beginning, will remember this as a serial in the first volume of the 
magazine, but those who saw it as it came out in numbers will 
be glad to see it again, and read about the little girl who was 
tired of home and thought it a grand thing to board, and of all the 
funny and provoking things that happened to her; and they will 
remember Mrs. Primkins, and Black Sarah, and the wonderful and 

startling stories she told. Those who have not read her story of Sam 
and the cellar key have missed a treat. 

The " Chatterbox " has made its annual appearance. It is sent to 
to us by Estes & Lauriat, of Boston, and is as full, as ever, of big 
pictures and short stories. This well-known book is such a 
favorite with the little people, that dishonest persons have giver, 
its name to books that are not the real Chatterboxes. But, if 
you have a "Chatterbox" with Estes & Lauriat on the title- 
page, you are all right This firm also publishes a book of dainty 
little poems, named "Little Folks' Songs," by Alexina B. White, 
with beautiful illustrations, some by Addie Ledyard; and also a book 
by Hezekiah Butterworth, which he calls " Zig-zag Journeys in Eu- 
rope," in which he tells how an American teacher took some of his 
boys on a vacation tour through England and France, and related to 
them delightfully true stories of the places they visited. 

Those interested in insects will find full accounts of the butterfly 
and moth in a book by Julia P. Ballard, called "Insect Lives; or, 
Bom in Prison," published in Cincinnati, by Robert Clarke & Co. 

" The Boys' and Girls' Treasury, — A Picture and Story-Book for 
Young People," by Uncle Herbert, is published by J. B. Lippincott 
& Co., Philadelphia. It contains over three hundred large-size 
pages, brimful of good pictures, and with stories that little children 
can understand. This firm publishes for very little ones a beautiful 
book, — large and square, — with full-page pictures, and a verse in 
large type for every letter of the alphabet. It is called " The 
Picture Alphabet," by Cousin Daisy. 

From the American Tract Society, New- York, we have lately 
received some very pretty books, which we have only room to men- 
tion briefly. There is a story, by Elmer Lynnde, of a little girl named 
Daphne, and it is in six volumes ! These are not very large, how- 
ever, and are all in a pretty paper box, and each volume has two 
pictures. Another fancy box has ten tiny beauties of books, each 
book with two or more stories or poems. These are for quite 
little people, and arc named " Books for Our Birdies." For those a 
little older there are two small books, — one called" Sunny Hours," 
and the other "Happy Home Stories," with a good many pictures; 
and a larger book, " Pictures and Stories of Long Ago," containing 
thirty-six stories from the Bible. Each story has a full-page illus- 
tration. And, for still older children, there is an interesting nar- 
rative of " Fifine," a little French girl, who did not live in a house, but 
in a show-wagon that traveled about. This is written by Louise 
Seymour Houghton. "The Signal Flag" is a collection of short 
stories by the author of " Ruthie's Venture " ; and "Nellie's New 
Year," by Rev. Edward A. Rand, is a book that girls will like. And 
there are two graver and more instructive books for the children who 
like sometimes to think seriously. These books are "A Crown of 
Glory," by Catharine M. Trowbridge, and " Women Worth Emu- 
lating," by Clara L. Balfour. 


Dr. Eggleston's New Play, printed in this number, and en- 
titled " Mother Goose and Her Family; a Christmas Recreation for 
Sunday-School and other Festivals," brings in, of course, only the 
chief of the Mother Goose characters. If more had been let in, the 
play would have run beyond half an hour, and would have been too 
long for use as merely a part of an evening's entertainment. How- 
ever, should anybody need to fill up more time, other Mother Goose 
characters can be brought into the play ; and, with Dr. Eggleston's 
original to imitate, a very ingenious person may be able to dress the 
added characters appropriately, and make them act and speak in a 
brisk, compressed style. But, to make the piece longer, is to risk 
making it drag, which would lessen the enjoyment of the audience. 

Dear St. Nicholas: The article upon "Playthings" in the 
November number reminds me that, a short time ago, I saw an 
Indian doll-baby such as the pappooses play with. A friend brought 
it from the Plains. It looked very funny, for it was a good represen- 
tation of an Indian. It was made of buckskin, sewed with fine 
sinews, and stuffed with hair, having beads for eyes, nose, and mouth. 

On the head was sewed a small piece of scalp, and this was braided 
and arranged just like the hair of an Indian. And the doll had the 
Indian wardrobe, — breech-cloth, robe, leggins, and moccasins. Our 
friend had a little tomahawk made for it, " to scalp white doll-babies 

with," he said ; and he added that he meant to have machinery put 
in the doll so that it could whoop- 
As it was, our neighbor's baby was afraid of it — Yours truly, S. 

In answer to requests from a few of our boys and girls, to tell them 
of some quiet games which will help them to amuse themselves dur- 
ing the winter evenings, we call attention to the advertisement of the 
"Protean Cards" and "Stratford Game" in the publishers' depart- 
ment of the present number of St. Nicholas. These games were 
originally prepared expressly for our own home circle of young folks, 
— and old folks, too, for that matter. 

West Hampton, L. I. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We boys around here were delighted with 
the story you told us in the June number, about a fish that catches 
fish for its master; but I guess that queer fellow would have to do 
his level best for a good while before he could catch as many as our 
Long Island men caught near here, not long ago, in a few hours. 
They actually scooped in nine thousand blue-fish at one haul! Talk 
about fishing, — what do you think of that? I told a Pennsylvania 
cousin about it, the other day, and he would n't believe it at all, till 
he went and talked to some of the men, and they told him how they 
did it. But then he gave in, — and, after that, he would n't give me 



l8 9 

a moment's peace till I promised him I *d write and tell St. Nicho- 
las about it. 

The way they do it is this: They have a tremendous big, long 
net, or seine, and they fasten one end of it at a certain spot on the 
shore, and then take the body of the net out over the water in row- 
boats, and then bring the other end slowly back to shore. The net 
is so long that sometimes the end brought back is a half mile away 
from the first end. 

That makes a pretty big circle of water, you see, to be hemmed in 
by one net, but a good part of the fish in that water are apt to get 
caught, and, of course, as the net is drawn in, the fish are crowded 
together more and more, in the center of the net. But just there, is a 
queer bag or " cod," which is arranged something like a mouse-trap, 
so that when the fish once get m they can't get out. That is not the 
kind of fishing most boys are used to, but I tell you it 's a big busi- 
ness. Why, they use horses to pull in the ends of the net, and, even 
then, it is often a heavy pull for the teams. 

But this last haul beats anything that has yet been done around 
here. Think of it ! nine thousand blue-fish at one haul ! And what 
do you think the whole lot weighed? Sixteen tons! There 's 
enough for a good many breakfast-tables, or my name 's not 

J. F. M. 

by tying a stout string double across between the ends of those parts 
of the bone that stand up like the tops of a Y. A piece of stick is 
then put between the two lines of twine and twisted round and 
round, away from the flat side of the shaft of the Y, on which a 

Dear St. Nicholas : Uncle says you are not the real Santa Claus : 
but I am pretty sure you must be. If not, please send Santa Claus 
word that 1 wish to have a microscope for Christmas. I want 
to see snow-crystals, and flies' wings, and lots of things that you and 
Jack-in-the-Pulpit tell about. Really truly I want to very much, so 
now, please don't forget, dear St. Nicholas, and I shall look out 
sharp on Christmas morning. — Your little friend, Harry Bain. 

We hope Santa Claus will see this letter, for, if he does, the mi- 
croscope will surely come. There is nothing the pleasant old fellow 
loves so well as to give his little ones just what they wish for, — espe- 
cially if it is going to make delight for them all the year round, and 
at the same time open the door into the true fairy world of nature. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I send you an account of a phenomenon 
new to me, and, it may be, to many of your readers. 

I skated, with two companions, for three miles against a strong 
wind, at a very rapid rate, and, before going home, we skated out 
upon a piece of flooded meadow, where the ice rested on the ground. 
Several times we heard sharp reports, till, at last, I came to the con- 
clusion that what seemed so strange to us was merely electricity. 
We then all skated in a circle, and stopped together, and we were 
fairly astonished by the rapidity and loudness of the reports. 

In many cases, pieces of ice the size of a silver half dollar were sent 
up, all with a circular mark on the bottom. A number of little boys 
gathered on the ice to witness the affair, and one was hit quite se- 
verely in the face by a sharp piece. The reports only occurred when 
we skated in a circle. 

We supposed that the rapid skating had generated large quantities 
of electricity in our bodies, and the earth beneath the ice became 
filled with it by our moving about, so that, when we stopped, our 
steel skates attracted it back through the ice. In some places, we 
could see the ice pop up as far off as forty feet. — Yours respectfully, 

W. L. Rodman. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have a fernery which we made by our- 
selves, and we enjoy it very much. Perhaps you would like to know 
how it was made? 

First we got a zinc pan about two inches deep, and then four pieces 
of sheet glass to form the sides, and one for the top. The corner 
edges of the pieces we made fast with cloth strips and glue, and then 
we set the glass wall in the pan. The glass top we bound with paper 
and fastened to the walls of the fernery. In the bottom of the pan we 
put a layer of pebbles, and this we covered with rich earth, which 
we planted with different kinds of ferns, and grasses, interspersed 
with rocks,, a little pool and some pretty shells. 

The zinc pan stands on four little wood blocks, — spools would do, 
— and these are fastened to a thick board which is only just a little 
wider and longer than the pan. We concealed the open space under- 
neath, and the metal sides, with bits of bark. 

We have ferns from all our favorite spots in this neighborhood, and 
also from some of the places we have visited this summer, and they all 
are growing, as fresh and green and beautiful as you can think. — 
Truly yours, Fanny and Alice. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I send you the pictures of two "jump- 
frogs," as we call them. One is made of the wish-bone of a chicken, 

little bit of cobbler's wax is stuck to hold the end of the stick, while 
you lay the "frog," wax down, on the table for a moment. The 
twisted cord pulls so on the stick that the stuck end soon comes off" 
the wax, die stick springs against the table, and up goes Mr. Frog 
with a jump. My baby brother thinks this is great fun. 

H. — We have described often in St. Nicholas various articles 
that can be made at home for fairs and for holiday presents. In the 
numbers for December, 1875, November, 1877, and November, 1879, 
many suitable articles are fully described and illustrated. 

The other jump-frog is made from a half-shell of a large English 
walnut, the double twine being strung through holes carefully bored 
near the edge of the shell, one at each side where it is broadest across. 
He is made to jump by the same method used for the other frog. I 
hope you will have the pictures drawn very plain, so that other boys 
can make jump-frogs as we do at home. — Yours truly, H. T. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We all have read your article in the Octo- 
ber number, on the New York Elevated Railroads, but cannot find 
out how the cars were put on the track, as the article said nothing 
about it. Will you please tell us in the "Letter-Box" how it is 
done? — I remain, yours truly, Bertha S. Perine. 

A short track is laid from the street slanting up to and joining the 
elevated track ; the cars are rolled upon the lower end of the short 
track, and then hauled up by a steam winch or windlass. 

Susan S. sends word of a quiet way to put coals on a fire, so as 
not to disturb an invalid or wake the baby: wrap small quantities in 
bits of old newspapers and lay the parcels on the hot coals; the 
paper will bum away, and the coal slip quietly into place. 

Bremen, Prussia. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Perhaps your "Letter-Box" readers may 
like to hear what the little boys and girls in Bremen do at Christmas 

On Christmas eve, every child puts a shoe under the bed, and 
inside the shoe a wishing paper, asking the Christkindchen to bring 
some special toy or treasure. For a week beforehand, Lhe little folk 
carry their wishing papers in their pockets, puzzling their heads as to 
just how generous St. Nicholas will be. Many papers are filled, 
written and crossed, and St. Nicholas sometimes frowns over blots 
and mis-spelled words. After all in the house are asleep, according 
to the old Story, the kind old gentleman comes down the chimney, 
slips the wishing- papers into his great, deep pocket, and fills the 
shoes with candies and cakes; but sometimes, to show that though 
gray and old he dearly loves a joke, he places a piece of turf or coal 
in the toe of the shoe or slipper, and chuckles over the blackened 
litde fingers which are quite sure to find under the coal a shining 
mark piece — about twenty-five cents in American money. To 
naughty children, of course, only switches are left. 

A day or two before New- Year's comes " Baum-plundem," or 
"Tree-robbing"; so-called because the children are invited from 
house to house among their friends to help rob the Christmas tree. 
They gather around a tree, and at a given sisnal it is shaken. Imme- 
diately the children scramble to pick up all they can that may have 
fallen. Then they take turns at pulling from the tree, what is within 
their reach, — the top ornaments being left for the older boys and girls 
who can reach higher. 

This is one of the things most looked forward to in the holiday 




week, and the children go home with arms full of golden and silver 
nuts, candy figures of every description, chocolate rings, and many 
pretty ornaments. — Yours truly, J. F. D. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I wonder if your readers know that the 
Trailing Arbutus will bloom in the house, late in winter or early in 
spring, if taken up before cold weather — in November, even, but 
December is best. The buds form early, being snugly protected 
from storm and frost ; so, if you look closely, you can find plants with 
clusters, good, though still quite small ; and if you do not stir the 
roots much the plants will not be harmed. 

I had some Trailing Arbutus in my " Dish Garden " (see " Letter- 
Box," March, 1879), and it bloomed beautifully. Being under glass, 
the blossoms lasted fresh for a long while. 

If the roots are taken up in a sort of ball, with the earth around 
them, and set in a common flower-pot or hanging basket, the plant 
will bloom early in spring. After placing the plant in the pot, keep 
it in a cold room for a few days, and then in a moderately warm one 
for a week or two ; this will accustom it to the change from out-door 
weather, and then it can safely be brought where your other flowers 
are, and will need little further care. The pure, delicate, Arbutus 
blossom showing long before wild flowers are expected, will repay 
you for the very slight trouble of getting and caring for the plant. If 
not under glass, the flowers will scent a room delightfully, though the 
blooming takes place earlier and lasts longer under cover. Wishing 
success to all who may make the trial, I remain very truly, your 
friend, H. S. 

Boston, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : The other day I asked my mother to read 
my St. Nicholas to me, and she selected " The Educational Break- 
fast at the Peterkins'." 

When the rest of our family discovered what mother was reading, 
they, one and all, prepared to listen. 

We were so .much impressed by Elizabeth Eliza's sad fate, that we 
set our wits to work to find means of escape for her. 

One thing and another was suggested, but to all we exclaimed, 

triumphantly: "Oh, you can't get ahead of Miss Hale, she has 
covered the whole ground " — when Paterfamilias remarked : 
"Could n't she unbutton her dress and slip out of it? " 
This completely silenced us, and we thought we must ask Miss 
Hale why Elizabeth Eliza could n't do that. A. G. M. 

The answers to J. D. L's rhymed story riddles in the Novem- 
ber " Letter-Box, " are: Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday; Rip Van 
Winkle; Ferdinand and Isabella; Christopher Columbus, the port 
ofPalos; Sir Walter Raleigh, beheaded; Diogenes. 

Wyoming, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you about a pet hen of ours ; 
she is of the Polish breed, and some call her Polly. She is very tame 
and in Winter time she flies up to a window, and taps on it with her 
bill until some of us open it; she then flies in and walks upstairs till 
she comes to a little storeroom in which she lays an egg; after which 
she flies out of the window. 

I am ten years old. — Your constant reader. L. B. M. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I write you this about a cure for wakeful- 
ness, because some of the parents of your young readers may be suf- 
fering from sleeplessness, and I know that parents who do not sleep 
are apt to be cross to children. 

The LitUe Schoolma'am will tell you that, about the beginning of 
this century, London was guarded at night by watchmen called 
" Charleys,'' many of whom were old men, weak, and unfit for the 
work, while others were cowards, and, from very fear, stayed in their 
wooden sentry-boxes when they ought to have answered cries for 
help or quelled street- fights. But, in general, when these watchmen 
were wanted, they would be found asleep in their boxes. 

Well, a friend of Lord Erskine, the great English lawyer, suffered 
from almost constant wakefulness. Every method was tried to get 
him to sleep, but in vain. At last, one night, the man's physicians 
had him dressed like a watchman, with a long, heavy coat, many 
shoulder-capes, hat, lantern, rattle and all, and left him in a watch- 
man's box near by. The cure was complete and swift, for in ten 
minutes he was fast asleep ! — Yours truly, K. 



I. 1. In eel. 2. Sward, 3. Faithful. 4. To restrain. 5. In all. 
II. 1. In aim. 2. To loiter. 3. Necromancy. 4. A snare ; or a ma- 
chine. 5. In ace. luna. 


Ni a prayrim lochos, ton glon goa, het cheater denturkoo ot vonecy 
ot rhe slipup na eadi fo het sues fo het henphy. Hes tower no het 
backoblard, "Drs'ib— stens," dan gintopin ot het henphy adesk het 
lochos: "thaw's hatt rof ? " Frate a thors asupe a letlit pach 
dippe otu : " Palsee am'ma, hatt 's rof het drib ot sotor no." 



In each of the following examples, a word is to be chosen to fill the 
single blank, and then the letters of this word are to be re-arranged so 
as to fill the remaining blanks, and complete the sense. Each dash 
represents a word. 

1. By brighter deeds were this man's honors gained 
Than his — obtained. 

2. The wrong is ; with your ball, 

You struck the , but meant the wall. 

3. You think it to be severe 

With scholars of that age ; but ; 

For harshness surely will but make them fear. 

4, -, indeed, believe the statement true, 

Whea it is out so well by you. b. 


1. Behead an English river, and leave metallic portions of the har- 
ness of a horse. 2. Behead closely, and leave in good season. 3. 
Behead by word of mouth, and leave to pluck up courage. 4. Behead 
an actor, and leave one of several thicknesses of material. 5. Behead 
to subdue, and leave to bring forth. 6. Behead to fall back, and 
leave to pass away. F. S. F. 

3. A pre- 
3. Part of 


My first within my whole now stands, 

And may be reckoned, 
If not removed by careless hands. 

To be my second. 


I. 1. A domestic animal. 2. Plenty of it in winter, 
cious stone. II. 1. To be indebted. 2. Asks wherefore, 
the face. III. 1. Rock containing metals. 2. To steal. 3. The 
return of tide-water toward the sea. IV. 1. A solid or hollow body 
of round form. 2. Part of a fish. 3. To ask for piteously. 


My first is in sailor, but not in tar; 
My second in mast, but not in spar. 
My third is in spoil, but not in mar. 
My fourth is in Venus, not in star. 
My fifth is in shake, but not in jar. 
My whole is the cosiest thing, by far, 
That 's seen in winter in house or car. 


Men hunt, then second, my Jirst, in order to obtain my -whole. 

D. W. 


Horizontals: i. A seasoning. 2. A call for a duel. 3. Laugh- 
ter. 4. Sarcastic. 5. Gratified. 6. A deception. 7. A shopkeeper. 
8. Pertaining to the morning, g, Clearness. Diagonal, from left to 
right, downward : An annual festival. a. g. C 





In the picture are represented thirty special objects, each of which may be described by a word of five letters. When the thirty words 
have been found, their central letters, properly arranged, will spell four other words, that describe what the children shown in the picture 
are doing. Thus : the usher is sprinkling ASHES on the steps, and the H of the word " ashes " is one of the thirty central letters which 
spell the four words of the answer. cyril deane. 


First Word : Oh ! I am just half of a jolly old man, 

h : 1 am just nail or a jouy 01a man, 

hose love at this time you must win if you can. 

Second Word : And I am the rest of the jovial old fellow, 

Whose locks are so white, and whose cheeks are 
so mellow. 

Cross- Words : 

A New-York lake, whose crystal wave 
Once mirrored many a painted brave: 
But now, when summer breezes blow, 
Pale students to my waters go. 

2. A gentle youth, whose farewell sigh 
First showed man what it is to die. 

3. A lake-fed torrent, falling, grand, 

My thunders shake the rock-ribbed land. 

4. A Latin word to Brutus used, 
I 'm very much like you; 

And, were your home in sunny France, 
They 'd call you by me, too. 

5. I welcomed not proud Perseus, 
Who near my roof-tree ranged, 

So, when he bared his Gorgon shield, 
I to a mountain changed. M. S, 


In each of the following examples, remove one word from another 
and leave a complete word : 

1. Take the person speaking from rude in looks and leave sacred. 

2. Take a mineral from friendly, and leave capable, skillful. 

3. Take a vessel from relating to daytime, and leave a face. 

4. Take a cave from zealous, and leave the practical using of skill. 

5. Take every one from a dance, and leave a wager. 

6. Take a tree from a blazing beacon, and leave a part of the 
human frame. 


Whole, I am a personage in one of Shakespeare's plays. Curtail 
me, and I become an ancient city of Europe; transpose, and I be- 
come greater, but then take from me one thousand, and if you had 
all the remainder, you would be worth countless millions. Curtail 
me, and a conjunction remains ; curtail me again, and there is nothing 

left. E. D. AND L. H. 


From the verse which chronicles the calamity that befell Jack and 
Jill may be made sixteen or more square words. 
"Jack and Jill went up the hill 

To fetch a pail of water, 
Jack fell down and broke his crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after." 
Take four scattered letters from the first line of the verse to form 
the first word of the squcre, — ACHE for example; then four scat- 
tered letters from the second line for the next word, — COIL; four 
from the third line for the third word, — HILL; and four from the 
fourth line of the verse for the fourth word, — ELLA; and we have 
the square word 


Of course, the first word cannot end in S, because there is no S in 
the fourth line of the verse ; nor in H, K, O, P, W, X, Y or Z, 
for the same reason. You must have at least two new words in 
every new square word. Make fifteen more square words from this 
verse under the conditions given. aunt sue. 





An anagram is a word (or set of 
words) spelled with the letters of an- 
other word {or set of words), the let- 
ters being, of course, arranged a 
different way. Thus : — " mar a nag " 
is an anagram on the word " anagram." 

In the present puzzle, there are four 
anagrams and four pairs of pictures. 
The letters of the word or set of words, 
which describes one picture of each 
pair, are to be re-arranged into a word 
or set of words, that will describe the 
mate-picture. Each pair of pictures 
is separated by a single line the one 
from the other, and by two lines from 
the rest. b. 


-Harvest Home 

Acrostic Enigma. 

Numerical Enigma. — Rhododendron. 

Reversible-word Star Puzzle. — 1. Time — emit. 2. Tang — gnat. 
. Tram — mart. 4. Teem — meet. 5. Tool — loot. 6. Trap — part. 
. Tops — spot. 8. Tide — edit. 

Double Central Acrostic. — Holidays. Pastimes. 
. GrOAns. 3. PuLSes. 4. WhITer. 5- HiDIng. 
. LaYErs. 8. PaSSed. 

Triple Hour-Glass Puzzle.— f a r e d 
n o n 




-Power. 1. HoPes. 2. ShC 

1. AsHPan. 
6. ShAMed. 

Combination Puzzle.- 
ry. 4. BrEad. 5. CuRes. 

Rebus. — Birds of a feather flock together. 
Easy German Beheadings. — 1. W-Arm. 

Comparisons. — 1. Gay: morgay. 2. Sea; sere: ceased. 3. 
I; ire; iced. 4. Rain; moraine. 5. Spy; spire; spiced. 6. Kate; 
cater. 7. Cape; caper. 8. Bay, bare; baste. 9. Poe; pour; post. 
10. Bee; beer; beast. 11. Bow; boar; boast. 12. Ewe; ewer; 

Thanksgiving Dinner. — t. Turkey. 2. Ham. 3. Parsley. 4. 
Potato. 5. Sweet potato. 6. Sauce. 7. Bread. 8. Game. 9. 
Pears. 10. Salad-in. n. Pie, pumpkin, mince. 12. Cheese. 13. 
Tarts, 14. Apples. 15. Kernels of nuts. 16. Grape in the form of 
raisins. 17. Coffee (coughy). 

Pictorial Proverb. — Too many cooks spoil the broth. 

8- Z-Immer. 
Octagonal Puzzle. 

2. B-Rauch. 

4. B-Lase. 5. R-Ohr. 6. B-Rennen. 7. W-Eisen. 

gon. 5. Bungled. 6. Plows. 
Simple Word-Square. — 


2. Excel. 3. Content. 4. Octa- 
Ant. Perpendicular, Octagon. 




3. C-ham-p. 4. 

Amputations. — x. H-oar-d. 

Classical Enigma. — Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdis. 
(Iris, Hebe (Goddess of Youth, not of Health), Urania, Vulcan, 
Didyme, Satyrs, Quirinal, Livia, Cacus, Titus.) 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received before October 20 from G. L. C, 22 all — O. C. Turner, 21 — Charlie 
S. Hill, 3 — Mary E. Pinkham, 9 — Jno. V. L Pierson, 3 — " Winnie," 13 — Florence Wilcox, 11 — Louie Giraud, 8— Lillie Burling, 5 — Robert 
A. Gaily, 5— "J. W., 2— Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, to — Antonia A. Alwood, 4 — Helen and Kittie, 9— Nellie S. Tappan, 6 — R. E. B., 2 
— M. J. S., 1— Violet, 1 — T. S. V. P., 12 — Mabel R. Thompson, 3— Miss Lillie Haldeman, 11 — Anita Newcomb, 7 — Bessie C. Barney, 
13 — G. D. Mitchell, 3 — Mattie Olmsted, 16— Lizzie Thurber, 5 — R. Townsend McKeon, 6— Samuel Willard, 1— Rufus E. Eldridge, 3— 
Emma Maxwell and Blanche Harris, 7 — Lucile Watling, 1 — Nellie C. Emerson, 13 — Bettie and Grant Weidman, 2 — Mary Weidman, 3 — 
Paulina Israel and Clara Potsdamer, 6 — "Hard and Tough," 3 — Charles N. Cogswell, 6 — Mabel Richmond, 1 — Kenneth B. Emer- 
son, 6 — Lillie and Annie, 8— B. C. and H. E. Melvin, 3 — Blank Family, 17— Mary C. M., 2 — Ida Cohn, 2— Carroll L. Maxcy, 8 — 
Cornie and Nellie, 4 — Emma Valentine, S — Carrie Adler, 3 — Alfred H. Hunt, 4 — Bettie L. Hillegeist, 2 — " Hazel," 5 — Cousin Eben 
Ebenezer, 7 — Max West, 2. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 

'hark] hark! the dogs do bark, the beggars are coming TO TOWN, 


Mother Goose. 


Vol. VII. 

JANUARY, 1880. 

No. 3. 

[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.] 


By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

There once was a little grain of wheat which 
was very proud indeed. The first thing it remem- 
bered was being very much crowded and jostled 
by a great many other grains of wheat, all living 
in the same sack in the granary. It was quite dark 
in the sack, and no one could move about, and so 
there was nothing to be done but to sit still and 
talk and think. The proud little grain of wheat 
talked a great deal, but did not think quite so much, 
while its next neighbor thought a great deal and 
only talked when it was asked questions it could 
answer. It used to say that when it thought a 
great deal it could remember things which it 
seemed to have heard a long time ago. 

"What is the use of our staying here so long 
doing nothing, and never being seen by anybody?" 
the proud little grain once asked. 

" I don't know," the learned grain replied. 
" I don't know the answer to that. Ask me 

" Why can't I sing like the birds that build their 
nests in the roof? I should like to sing, instead of 
sitting here in the dark." 

" Because you have no voice," said the learned 

This was a very good answer indeed. 

" Why did n't some one give me a voice, then — 
why did n't they ? " said the proud little grain, get- 
ting very cross. 

The learned grain thought for several minutes. 

" There might be two answers to that," she said, 
at last. " One might be that nobody had a voice 

Vol. VII. — 14. 

to spare, and the other might be that you have 
nowhere to put one if it were given to you." 

"Everybody is better off than I am," said the 
proud little grain. " The birds can fly and sing, 
the children can play and shout. I am sure I can 
get no rest for their shouting and playing. There 
are two little boys who make enough noise to 
deafen the whole sackful of us." 

" Ah ! I know them," said the learned grain. 
" And it 's true they are noisy. Their names are 
Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the 
side of the sack through which I can see them. 
I would rather stay where I am than have to do all 
they do. They have long yellow hair, and when 
they stand on their heads the straw sticks in it 
and they look very curious. I heard a strange 
thing through listening to them the other day." 

" What was it ? " asked the proud grain. 

" They were playing in the straw, and some one 
came in to them — it was a lady who had brought 
them something on a plate. They began to dance 
and shout: 'It's cake! It's cake! Nice little 
mamma for bringing us cake.' And then they 
each sat down with a piece and began to take great 
bites out of it. I shuddered to think of it after- 


" Well, you know they are always asking ques- 
tions, and they began to ask questions of their 
mamma, who lay down in the straw near them. 
She seemed to be used to it. These are the ques- 
tions Vivian asked : 




" ' Who made the cake ? ' 

" ' The cook.' 

" ' Who made the cook ? ' 

" 'God.' 

" ' What did he make her for? ' 

" ' Why did n't he make her white ? ' 

" ' Why did n't he make you black?' 

" ' Did he cut a hole in heaven and drop me 
through when he made me ? ' 

" ' Why did n't it hurt me when I tumbled such 
a long way ? ' 

" She said she ' did n't know ' to all but the two 
first, and then he asked two more. 

" ' What is the cake made of? ' 

" ' Flour, sugar, eggs, and butter.' 

" ' What is flour made of? ' 

" It was the answer to that which made me 

" What was it? " asked the proud grain. 

" She said it was made of — wheat ! I don't see 
the advantage of being rich . " 

" Was the cake rich?" asked the proud grain. 

" Their mother said it was. She said, ' Don't 
eat it so fast — it is very rich.' " 

"Ah ! " said the proud grain. " I should like 
to be rich. It must be very fine to be rich. If I 
am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich that 
no one will dare to eat me at all." 

"Ah ! " said the learned grain. " I don't think 
those boys would be afraid to eat you, however 
rich you were. They are not afraid of richness." 

" They 'd be afraid of me before they had done 
with me," said the proud grain. " I am not a 
common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made 
into cake. But gracious me ! there does n't seem 
much prospect of it while we are shut up here. 
How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded, 
and what a stupid lot the other grains are ! I 'm 
tired of it, I must say." 

" We are all in the same sack," said the learned 
grain, very quietly. 

It was a good many days after that, that some- 
thing happened. Quite early in the morning, a 
man and a boy came into the granary, and moved 
the sack of wheat from its place, wakening all the 
grains from their last nap. 

"What is the matter?" said the proud grain. 
" Who is daring to disturb us ?" 

" Hush ! " whispered the learned grain, in the 
most solemn manner. " Something is going to hap- 
pen. Something like this happened to somebody 
belonging to me long ago. I seem to remember 
it when I think very hard. I seem to remember 
something about one of my family being sown." 

" What is sown ?" demanded the other grain. 

"It is being thrown into the earth," began the 
learned grain. 

Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into ! 
"Into the earth?" she shrieked out. "Into the 
common earth ? The earth is nothing but dirt, 
and I am not a common grain of wheat. I wont be 
sown ! I will not be sown ! How dare any one 
sow me against my will ! I would rather stay in 
the sack." 

But just as she was saying it, she was thrown out 
with the learned grain and some others into another 
dark place, and carried off by the farmer, in spite 
of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her 
voice at all, and would n't have minded it if he had, 
because he knew she was only a grain of wheat, 
and ought to be sown, so that some good might 
come of her. 

Well, she was carried out to a large field in the 
pouch which the farmer wore at his belt. The 
field had been ploughed, and there was a sweet 
smell of fresh earth in the air ; the sky was a 
deep, deep blue, but the air was cool and the few 
leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and looked 
as if they had been left over from last year. 

"Ah!" said the learned grain. "It was just 
such a day as this when my grandfather, or my 
father, or somebody else related to me, was sown. 
I think I remember that it was called Early Spring." 

"As for me," said the proud grain, fiercely, " I 
should like to see the man who would dare to 
sow me ! " 

At that very moment, the farmer put his big, 
brown hand into the bag and threw her, as she 
thought, at least half a mile from him. 

He had not thrown her so far as that, however, 
and she landed safely in the shadow of a clod of 
rich earth, which the sun had warmed through and 
through. She was quite out of breath and verv 
dizzy at first, but in a few seconds she began to 
feel better and could not help looking around, in 
spite of her anger, to see if there was any one near 
to talk to. But she saw no one, and so began to 
scold as usual. 

" They not only sow me," she called out, " but 
they throw me all by myself, where I can have no 
company at all. It is disgraceful." 

Then she heard a voice from the other side of 
the clod. It was the learned grain, who had fallen 
there when the farmer threw her out of his pouch. 

" Don't be angry," it said, " I am here. We 
are all right so far. Perhaps, when they cover us 
with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each 
other than we are now." 

" Do you mean to say they will cover us with 
the earth ? " asked the proud grain. 

"Yes," was the answer. "And there we shall 
lie in the dark, and the rain will moisten us, and 
the sun will warm us, until we grow larger and 
larger, and at last burst open ! " 




" Speak for yourself." said the proud grain ; " I 
shall do no such thing ! " 

But it all happened just as the learned grain had 
said, which showed what a wise grain it was, and 
how much it had found out just by thinking hard 
and remembering all it could. 

Before the day was over, they were covered 
snugly up with the soft, fragrant, brown earth, and 
there they lay day after day. 

One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it 
found itself wet through and through with rain 
which had fallen in the night, and the next day the 
sun shone down and warmed it so that it really 
began to be afraid that it would be obliged to grow 
too large for its skin, which felt a little tight for it 

It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at 
first, because it was determined not to burst if it 
could help it ; but after the same thing had hap- 
pened a great many times, it found, one morning, 
that it really was swelling, and it felt obliged to tell 
the learned grain about it. 

"Well," it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will 
be glad to hear that you were right. I am going 
to burst. My skin is so tight now that it does n't 
fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another 
warm shower like the last." 

" Oh !" said the learned grain, in a quiet way 
(really learned people always have a quiet way), 
" I knew I was right, or I should n't have said so. 
I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I 
think I myself shall burst by to-morrow." 

" Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the 
proud grain. " Who would n't find it uncomfort- 
able to be two or three sizes too small for oneself! 
Pouf! Crack! There I go ! I have split all up 
my right side, and I must say it 's a relief." 

"Crack! Pouf! so have I," said the learned 
grain. " Now we must begin to push up through 
the earth. I am sure my relation did that." 

" Well, I should n't mind getting out into the 
air. It would be a change at least." 

So each of them began to push her way through 
the earth as strongly as she could, and, sure 
enough, it was not long before the proud grain 
actually found herself out in the world again breath- 
ing the sweet air, under the blue sky, across which 
fleecy white clouds were drifting, and swift-winged, 
happy birds darting. 

" It really is a lovely day," were the first words 
the proud grain said. It could n't help it. The 
sunshine'was so delightful, and the birds chirped 
and twittered so merrily in the bare branches,- and, 
more wonderful than all, the great field was brown 
no longer, but was covered with millions of little, 
fresh green blades, which trembled and bent their 
frail bodies before the light wind. 

"This is an improvement," said the proud grain. 

Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it, 
and up through the brown mould came the learned 
grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest. 

" I told you I was not a common grain of 
wheat," said the proud one. 

" You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said 
the learned one, modestly. " You are a blade of 
wheat, and there are a great many others like 

" See how green I am ! " said the proud blade. 

" Yes, you are very green," said its companion. 
"You will not be so green when you are older." 

The proud grain, which must be called a blade 
now, had plenty of change and company after this. 
It grew taller and taller every day, and made a 
great many new acquaintances as the weather grew 
warmer. These were little gold and green beetles 
living near it, who often passed it, and now and 
then stopped to talk a little about their children 
and their journeys under the soil. Birds dropped 
down from the sky sometimes to gossip and twitter 
of the nests they -were building in the apple-trees, 
and the new songs they were learning to sing. 

Once, on a very warm day, a great golden but- 
terfly floating by on his large lovely wings, fluttered 
down softly and lit on the proud blade, who felt so 
much prouder when he did it that she trembled 
for joy. 

" He admires me more than all the rest in the 
field, you see," it said, haughtily. "That is be- 
cause I am so green." 

" If I were you," said the learned blade, in its 
modest way, " I believe I would not talk so much 
about being green. People will make such ill-nat- 
ured remarks when one speaks often of oneself. " 

" I am above such people," said the proud blade, 
" I can find nothing more interesting to talk of 
than myself." 

As time went on, it was delighted to find that it 
grew taller than any other blade in the field, and 
threw out other blades ; and at last there grew out 
of the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new 
little grains, all fitting closely together, and wear- 
ing tight little green covers. 

" Look at me ! " it said then. " I am the queen 
of all the wheat. I have a crown. " 

" No," said its learned companion. " You are 
now an ear of wheat." 

And in a short time all the other stalks wore the 
same kind of crown, and it found out that the 
learned blade was right, and that it was only an 
ear, after all. 

And now the weather had grown still warmer 
and the trees were covered with leaves, and the 
birds sang and built their nests in them and 
laid their little blue eggs, and in time, wonder- 




ful to relate, there came baby birds, that were 
always opening their mouths for food, and cry- 
ing " peep, peep," to their fathers and mothers. 
There were more butterflies floating about on their 
amber and purple wings, and the gold and green 
beetles were so busy they had no time to talk. 

" Well ! " said the proud ear of wheat (you 
remember it was an ear by this time) to its com- 
panion one day. " You see, you were right again. 
I am not so green as I was. I am turning yellow 
— but yellow is the color of gold, and I don't ob- 
ject to looking like gold." 

' f You will soon be ripe," said its friend. 

" And what will happen then ?" 

''The reaping-machine will come and cut you 
down, and other strange things will happen." 

" There I make a stand," said the proud ear, 
" I will not be cut down." 

But it was just as the wise ear said it would be. 
Not long after, a reaping-machine was brought and 
driven back and forth in the field, and down went 
all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it 
did not hurt the wheat, of course, and only the 
proud ear felt angry. 

" I am the color of gold," it said, " and yet they 
have dared to cut me down. What will they do 
next, I wonder ? " 

What they did next was to bunch it up with 
other wheat and tie it and stack it together, and 
then it was carried in a wagon and laid in the barn. 

Then there was a great bustle after a while. 
The farmer's wife and daughters and her two 
servants began to work as hard as they could. 

'•The thrashers are coming," they said, "and 
we must make plenty of things for them to eat." 

So they made pies and cakes and bread until 
their cupboards were full ; and surely enough the 
thrashers did come with the thrashing-machine, 
which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff! 
puff ! rattle ! rattle ! " all the time. And the proud 
wheat was thrashed out by it, and found itself in 
grains again and very much out of breath. 

" I look almost as I was at first," it said; " only 
there are so many of me. I am grander than ever 
now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, and 
now I am at least fifty." 

When it was put into a sack, it managed to get 
all its grains together in one place, so that it might 
feel as grand as possible. It was so proud that it 
felt grand, however much it was knocked about. 

It did not lie in the sack very long this time 
before something else happened. One morning it 
heard the farmer's wife saying to the colored boy : 

" Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill, 
Jerry. I want to try it when I make that thar cake 
for the boarders. Them two children from Wash- 
ington city are powerful hands for cake." 

So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his 
shoulder, and carried it out into the spring-wagon. 

"Now we are going to travel," said the proud 
wheat. " Don't let us be separated." 

At that minute, there were heard two young 
voices, shouting : 

"Jerry, take us in the wagon ! Let us go to 
mill, Jerry ! We want to go to mill." 

And these were the very two boys who had played 
in the granary and made so much noise the summer 
before. They had grown a little bigger, and their 
yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as 
they used to, with their strong little legs and big 
brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so far back on 
their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on. 
And gracious ! how they shouted and ran. 

" What does yer mar say ? " asked Jerry. 

" Says we can go ! " shouted both at once, as if 
Jerry had been deaf, which he was n't at all — quite 
the contrary. 

So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted 
them in, and cracked his whip, and the horses 
started off. It was a long ride to the mill, but 
Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout 
again when they reached it. They shouted at sight 
of the creek and the big wheel turning round and 
round slowly, with the water dashing and pouring 
and foaming over it. 

" What turns the wheel ? " asked Vivian. 

" The water, honey," said Jerry. 

" What turns the water ? " 

"Well now, honey," said Jerry, "you hev me 
thar. I don't know nuffin 'bout it. Lors-a-massy, 
what a boy you is fur axin' dif'cult questions." 

Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and 
said he would wait until the wheat was ground. 

" Ground ! " said the proud wheat. " We are 
going to be ground. I hope it is agreeable. Let 
us keep close together." 

They did keep close together, but it was n't 
very agreeable to be poured into a hopper and 
then crushed into fine powder between two big 

" Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it 
between his fingers. 

" Flour! " said the wheat — which was wheat no 
longer. " Now I am flour, and I am finer than 
ever. How white I am ! I really would rather be 
white than green or gold color. I wonder where 
the learned grain is, and if it is as fine and white 
as I am ? " 

But the learned grain and her family had been 
laid away in the granary for seed wheat. 

Before the wagon reached the house again, the 
two boys were fast asleep in the bottom of it, and 
had to be helped out just as the sack was, and 
carried in. 



The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and 
opened, and even in its wheat days the flour had 
never been so proud as it was when it heard the 
farmer's wife say : 

" I 'm going to make this into cake." 

"Ah!" it said; ''I thought so. Now I shall 
be rich, and admired by everybody." 

The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a 
large white bowl, and after that she busied herself 
beating eggs and sugar and butter all together in 
another bowl : and after a while she took the flour 
and beat it in also. 

" Now I am in grand company," said the flour. 
" The eggs and butter are the color of gold, the 
sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very 
society for me." 

"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters. 

" It 's rather too rich for them children," said 
her mother. " But Lawsey, I dunno, neither. 
Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat 
a panel of rail fence and come to no harm." 

" I 'm rich," said the flour to itself. " That is 
just what I intended from the first. I am rich and 
I am cake." 

Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and 
peeped into it. They belonged to a round little 
head with a mass of tangled curls all over it — they 
belonged to Vivian. 

" What 's that ?" he asked. 


" Who made it?" 

•' I did." 

'■'I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a 
nice woman. Who 's going to eat any of it? Is 
Lionel ? " 

" I 'm afraid it 's too rich for boys," said the 
woman, but she laughed and kissed him. 

" No," said Vivian. "I 'm afraid it is n't." 

" I shall be much too rich," said the cake, 
angrily. " Boys, indeed. I was made for some- 
thing better than boys." 

After that, it was poured into a cake-mold, and 
put into the oven, where it had rather an un- 
pleasant time of it. It was so hot in there that if 
the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it 
would have been burned. 

" But I am cake," it said. " And of the richest 
kind, so I can bear it, even if it is uncomfortable." 

When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it 
felt as if it was quite satisfied. Every one who 
came into the kitchen and saw it, said : 

" Oh, what nice cake ! How well your new flour 
has done ! " 

But just once, while it was cooling, it had a 
curious, disagreeable feeling. It found, all at once, 
that the two boys, Lionel and Vivian, had come 
quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table 

looking at the cake with their great eyes wide open 
and their little red mouths open, too. 

"Dear me," it said. "How nervous I feel — 
actually nervous. What great eyes they have, and 
how they shine ! And what are those sharp white 
things in their mouths? 1 really don't like them to 
look at me in that way. It seems like something 
personal. I wish the farmer's wife would come." 

Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool 
when the woman came in, and she put it away in 
the cupboard on a plate. 

But, that very afternoon, she took it out again 
and set it on the table on a glass cake-stand. She 
put some leaves around it to make it look nice, and 
it noticed that there were a great many other things 
on the table, and they all looked fresh and bright. 

"This is all in my honor," it said. "They 
know I am rich." 

Then several people came in and took chairs 
around the table. 

" They all come in to sit and look at me," said 
the vain cake. " I wish the learned grain could 
see me now." 

There was a little high-chair on each side of the 
table, and at first these were empty, but in a few 
minutes the door opened and in came the two little 
boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and 
their "bangs" and curls were bright with being 

" Even they have been dressed up to do me 
honor," thought the cake. 

But, the next minute, it began to feel quite 
nervous again. Vivian's chair was near the glass 
stand, and when he had climbed up and seated 
himself, he put one elbow on the table and rested 
his fat chin on his fat hand, and, fixing his eyes on 
the cake, sat and stared at it in such an un- 
naturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any 
cake might well have felt nervous. 

"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a 
deeply thoughtful voice that the cake felt faint 
with anger. 

Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one 
drew the stand toward them and took a knife and 
cut out a large slice of the cake. 

" Go away ! " said the cake, though no one 
heard it. "I am cake ! I am rich ! I am not 
for boys ! How dare you ! " 

Vivian stretched out his hand ; he took the slice; 
he lifted it up, and then the cake saw his red mouth 
open — yes, open wider than it could have believed 
possible — wide enough to show two dreadful rows 
of little sharp white things. 

" Good gra " it began. 

But it never said "cious." Never at all. For 
in two minutes Vivian had eaten it ! ! 

And there was an end of its airs and graces. 

1 98 



By J. Reed Sever. ' 


At certain seasons of the year, top-spinning 
engages a great part of the leisure time of Ameri- 
can and English boys, and some of them become 
very skillful. But Japanese jugglers are the peo- 
ple to spin tops, and I will try to describe some of 
their more difficult feats, as I saw them. 

I was at a Japanese juggling entertainment, and 
when the first part of the performance was over, the 
men who had been acting cleared the stage, set 
on it a small table, a number of swords, and a little 
house, like the doll houses sold in toy shops, 
bowed low, and left. Immediately afterward, a 
richly-dressed Japanese made his appearance, car- 
rying in his arms about a dozen tops, somewhat 

resembling common humming-tops, each with a 
long thin stem run through the bulb-shaped part, 
and protruding at the top and bottom, — the top 
stem being cased in a loose sheath. Bowing to 
the spectators, the Japanese took one of the tops 
and twirled it briskly between his palms for a 
second or two ; he then dropped it upon the table, 
where it spun around in that swiftly revolving, but 
apparently motionless state, that boy top-spinners 
call "sleeping." The Japanese indicated by signs 
that it would stop when he told it to, and turning 
toward the table, he lifted his hand as a command. 
No sooner had he done this than the top stopped 
as if it really had seen and understood the signal. 



The Japanese picked up the top again, and, 
twirling it as before, placed it upon the table, where 
it spun itself to sleep. He then selected from the 
swords on the floor one with a long, keen blade, 
and lifting the top from the table by the sheath of 
the uoper stem, placed the point of the lower stem 
care. ally upon the edge of the blade, near the hilt. 
The top spun for some moments in this position, 
and then began to run slowly toward the point of 
the sword. When it had reached the point, it 
leaned over at an angle of forty-five degrees, and 
continued to revolve for several moments in that 
difficult position, until it was caught in the juggler's 
hand just as it was about to stop spinning. 

Throwing the sword to one side, the performer 
again made the top spin upon the table, and pick- 
ing up five others started them also. He then 
stretched a thin wire across the stage, and taking 
the tops from the table, placed them one after an- 
other upon the wire, as he had previously placed 
the first one upon the edge of the sword. They 
spun around for a few seconds without moving; but 
suddenly, as if by one impulse, they all started on 
an excursion along the wire, balancing themselves 
as they went, with all the nicety of expert tight- 
rope walkers. Reaching the end of their trip, they 
dropped one by one into the hands of an assistant, 
who stood ready to catch them. 

This trick was succeeded by a much more myste- 
rious one. The Japanese walked to the side of the 
stage and untied a string, which as soon as it was 
loosed swung quickly to the middle of the stage, 
and then hung perpendicularly. After untying this 
string, the Japanese took a top from his assistant, 
and twirling it in his hand until it revolved quickly 
enough, he took hold of the end of the string, and, 
placing the stem of the top at right angles to it, left 
things to take care of themselves. 

The top spun a short time at the end of the 
string, but soon it began to move slowly upward, 

still spinning at right angles with the string. It 
continued in this way to move steadily upward 
until at length, it had traversed the entire distance, 
and was lost to view behind the"fhes"over the stage. 

When the applause that greeted this trick had 
subsided, the Japanese moved the doll-house to the 
center of the stage and placed it beside the table. 
He then set six tops, exactly alike in size and ap- 
pearance, spinning upon the table, and taking a 
seventh in his hand, indicated to the spectators, by 
signs, that he would send it on a journey through 
the doll-house. He then sat down on the floor, 
and curling up his legs, Turk fashion, started the 
seventh top spinning. It ran along the floor until 
it reached a sort of inclined drawbridge leading to 
the entrance of the little house, and then went up 
slowly to, and through, the open door. The jug- 
gler waited a moment, as if expecting some signal 
from the now invisible top. His suspense was 
relieved an instant later by the tinkling of a silver 
bell, which indicated that the top had entered one 
of the tiny rooms. The Japanese held up one 
finger and waited, in a listening attitude, for a sec- 
ond signal. It came, as before, in the tinkle of a 
bell, upon hearing which the man held up two fin- 
gers. Finally, when ten rooms had been visited, 
and ten bells, rung in this way, had been counted 
on the performer's fingers, he arose and pointed 
toward the house, and toward the table, upon which 
the six tops were yet spinning. After a few mo- 
ments, during which we silently watched the door 
of the house, the top that had been ringing the 
bells came quickly out of the entrance, ran down 
the drawbridge and dropped motionless at the feet 
of the Japanese. That same moment the tops on 
the table stopped, and dropped over on their sides. 

You may fancy how we applauded, and what a 
puzzle this wonderful top-spinning was to me. I 
only hope that you may be more successful than 
I was in trying to unravel the mystery of it. 

By B. M. B. 

It all began at a missionary-meeting. 

" Do you want to make fifty children perfectly 
happy?" asked Sister Eliza, as we sat there together, 
we two girls and the sweet, self-denying woman 
with the peace in her face. 

" Of course we do — but how ? " was our exclama- 
tion, " what do you mean ? " And what she meant, 
by making fifty children perfectly happy, and how 

she thought that we could do this good thing, and 
how, when we heard about it, we determined to do 
it, and how we did it, and how the dolls' baby-show 
came about, and what it really was, and what fol- 
lowed this novel baby-show, — is just what we pro- 
pose to tell to those who care about making children 
happy and who choose to read our story. 

It is n't a pleasant thing to have no father and 




no mother and no home by one's self; but to live, 

fifty children, all together, in a great, bare barn of 

a house, every one with the same gray dress and 

the same white apron, and not a dolly among 

them all ! Yet this was what Tabitha did, and 

forty-nine other Tabithas, and Janes, and 

Elizas, and Carries, Nellys, and Mary Anns, 

along with her. Poor little Tabitha ! She had 

nobody to love her. When her father 

and mother died, there was nothing for 

the neighbors to do but to send her to 

the orphan-asylum of the county, and 

this was where she was, not many 

miles from New York itself- 

There was a great long room, .-.. 

with columns down the middle ; 

no carpet on the floor ; nothing 

pretty on the walls; twenty-six ';.* 

cold-looking beds straight along 

the sides, — and this was all the ;!. '. 

home poor little Tabitha had. 

Some of the other children were 

sick and dreadful, and she had n't 

very good times playing with 

them. How she would have liked 

to have a doll ! Sometimes she got an 

old newspaper and twisted it up, or sometimes she 

But there was one 
bright day every week, 



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made believe with a pillow-case ; but if she could 
only have a real, live doll ! A real, live doll ! 

and that 

was the day when 
Sister Eliza came. 
She always brought 
a bright face, — just 
like sunshine, after 
they had n't been out for a week, Tabitha thougnt, 
— and pleasant words, and goodies. Candy? Bless 
you, no! These poor, little gray ducklings never 
saw a peppermint stick. But she brought always a 
little paper of sweet crackers, just enough for two 
bites all around, and that was pudding, and pie, and 
candy, and marmalade to them for a whole week. 
And one day, the very day before Christmas, she 
came with her brightness and her crackers, and — 
something else ! Something, she said, that a kind 
lady had given her, and that they should know all 
about on Christmas-day. The children wondered 
what it could be, — more crackers? a Christmas- 
cake? perhaps only shoes and stockings, — every- 
body sent them shoes and stockings, shoes with the 
toes out, and stockings with the heels darned, so 
that they hurt. They talked about nothing else. 
Tabitha stayed awake almost all the night thinking 
it over, and then dreamed about it till she woke up 
Christmas morning. 

'"Liza," said she, to her little bed-neighbor, 

i88o. ] 



before she had said "Merry Christmas!" even, 
" 'Liza, what do you think I dweamed about last 
night? Oh, I dweamed — oh, it wath such a nice 
dweam ! I dweamed that Sister Sunshine's bundle 
(that 's what the children called her) that she 
would n't let us know anythin' about, wath a funny 
little square box, an' she left it in the closet, an' 
then I woke up in the middle of the night an' 
Santa Clauth he came down the register and he 
opened the closet door, an' the little box it grew 
and it grew, an' by and by it wath a big, big, BIG 
baby house, an' out came a big doll, an' then a 
littler doll, and then heaps of littler dolls, and 
their heads were all made of sweet crackers, and 
they kept dancing about all 'round in the air with 
a funny kind o' light about their heads, and one 
of them came bobbing up to me and says, ' Eat 

Sure enough there was a dolly ! Not fifty dolls, 
indeed, but one ! A big, funny, rag dolly, tied to 
the post in the middle of the room, and " Merry 
Christmas ! " written over it. Tabitha's cry had 
roused up all the other forty-nine children from the 
twenty-six white beds, and in an instant they had 
all jumped out — all but the two little sick ones in 
beds by themselves who could n't get up at all — 
and were dancing round the post in their night- 
gowns, trying to get a hug at the 'most suffocated 
doll. Such a noise they made, and such a quarrel 
they began to get into, — yes, a quarrel even on 
Christmas morning, — that the matron came run- 
ning in, and actually took the dolly away. The 
poor disappointed faces ! But after breakfast they 
were to have the doll again, and each child, the 
matron said, should have it five minutes for her 

'■ '■-• ~- ■£'■ 






me up !' an' I bit off its head, an' I was so sorry, very own. The children who came next actually 
an' I bit my tongue, too ; and I woke up an' — ■ stood in line waiting their turns, and by the time 
oh-h-h, my goodness ! There is a dolly ! " each of them had given the poor doll fifty hugs 




and thirty kisses apiece, it was so worn to pieces 
that it did not seem as though it could live through 
the night, the matron said. In the midst of it, 
in came Sister Sunshine herself, and such a wel- 
come as she had. Presently little Tabitha crept 
up to her and told her her dream. 

" I fink it 's weal nice to dweam," said Tabitha, 
"when you can't have things weally an' twuly ; 
an' when I waked up and saw that dear dolly, I 
thought my dweam had weally come twue. Only 
it does take so long to go wound, and I only had it 
such a little bit of a minute to myself." 

" Dear little souls," said Sister Eliza to herself, 
" next Christmas you shall have a dolly each to 
yourself." And this was how she was to make fifty 
children "per-fectly happy." 

Meanwhile, the dolly lived in the orphan asylum 
with the fifty children. She was almost bigger 
than the smallest child, and the matron always 
called her ''Fifty-one," so that this got to be her 
name. By and by one of the little sick children 
died, on Easter day, and when summer came two 
new children were brought in ; but dolly stayed 
"Fifty-one." One doll to fifty children! Fifty 

boy doll she was married to, and the rag-baby, and 
all the paper dolls that are its lineal descendants ! 
This one dolly had a hard time of it. She had 
so much hugging that it gave her the chromatics, 
which is a curious doll disease, when they get very 
black and blue and dirty-like, particularly in the 
face, and the feet begin to drop off, and the stuffing 
(if it 's a stuffed doll) comes out. Her best friend 
■55 would n't have rec- 




ognized her; but she 
lived a whole year, 
and to these poor lit- 
tle children, who had 
no " folks " of their 
own, she was papa, 
mamma, and brother 
and sister, all to- 
gether. They actu- 
ally remembered her 
in their prayers, and 
one queer little girl 
made a rhyme, which 
they said after " Now 
I lay me : " 




>\'- k.. K.k }^ r ft :] ,.<" "And till the birds wake up 

„,f D r - v\I^M; Mfe the sun > 

.fKiiiF.KS '!/:£> Dear Lord, take care of 

l-v^ 1 Fifty-one ! " 

, J ,-; 5 . .- .=. Every time that 

Sister Eliza saw the 
doll, it put her in 
mind of her promise. 
That was how we 
came into the story. 
She asked us if we 
could n't get our 
friends to give us fifty 
dolls, — old ones the 
girls did not want ; 
and we thought we 
could, and said we 
1 would. But we had 
forgotten a very im- 
portant matter, — 
that nobody ever 
saw, or heard of, or 
dreamt of a single, 
solitary doll, brain- 
-'" lessorheadless,bang- 
rV-' ed or stuffingless, 
without arms or with- 
out feet, that its little 

"the children stood in line waiting their turns." mother did not clin°" 

dolls to one child would not be so very remarkable, to as " her own dear child." So we began to take 
— the every-day doll, and grandmother's doll, and up contributions for new dollies, when a generous 
the doll Aunt Lottie brought from Paris, and the friend sent us — as a Christmas gift for the poor — 




the dollies themselves, fifty and to spare, packed 
like sardines in boxes of six, and all of them twins. 
So alike, indeed, that you could only tell them 
apart by their boots, which were pink, and green, 
and blue, and black, and almost any color you can 
think of. 

And now the dolls began to start on their travels, 
for we had engaged all our friends as doll-dress- 
makers, and the dressmakers lived pretty much all 
over the country. The dolls went by cars, they went 
by boat, they went by pocket. One found her way 
to Staten Island, where was a little girl who wanted 
to dress at least one, and she came back as though 
she had been to Paris and had her dress made by 
the man dressmaker, Worth, — a real Miss Flora 
McFlimsey. Presently the door-bell began to ring 
at all sorts of hours, and they all came trooping, 
one after another, " back to mamma's, home 
again ! " Now you could tell them apart easily : 
here was a French bonne, with her white cap and 
white apron ; here a black-hooded nun ; here a 
little boy in a Scottish suit ; here two sailor laddies ; 
another dressed just like Sister Eliza herself; and 
still another in the gray gown of the asylum chil- 
dren they were all to visit. If those dolls could 
only have told the stories of their travels, what a 
book they would make ! 

So the dolls were all home again, waiting for 
Christmas morning. You could n't go anywhere 
in the house but a new doll would seem to pop 
out. And then everybody said we must have a 
baby-show. We wanted to give the fifty children 
some candy, too, and make their cold, bare room 
pretty, for once, with Christmas-greens, and now 
the dolls themselves should earn the money to buy 
their mammas candy. Then came the show ! 

" Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, only ten cents 
admission, to see the prize baby, and the biggest 
baby in the world, and the smallest baby in the 
world, and everyone the best baby in the world, — 
ten cents admission, fifty babies, five for a cent, — 
walk in, ladies and gentlemen," said the manageress, 
a Mrs. Jarley with doll-babies instead of wax-works, 
to those who gave their tickets at our parlor door. 
And such a show of babies ! Shawls and sashes, 
hung around the walls, served as screens and deco- 
rations, and ranged around were not only the fifty 
dollies themselves, but lots of other dollies who 
had been sent in as prize babies. As they could n't 
tell their own names, placards did it for them. 
Here were " other people's children," mischievous 
as " Budge and Toddie," but quiet as mice. Over 
them was the little girl who was " born with a silver 
spoon in her mouth," dressed as fine as a fiddle, 
and next to her the one "born with no spoon at 
all," in sober homespun. "The convalescent" 
sat up in her tiny bed, looking as pretty as a pink. 

Opposite to her was " a child of the dark ages," 
a dreadful rag-baby thing, made of a pillow and a 
black mask, with curls of carpenters' shavings. 
And in the back-room were the talking midgets, — 
" no extra charge," — for the twoboys had covered a 
table with a sheet, and dressed up their hands as 


doll-babies, which stood on the table, while they 
hid themselves underneath, and asked conundrums, 
and answered questions from the audience. 

The baby-show was a success ; we counted the 
money after each new-comer bought a ticket, and 
the last time of counting we had eight dollars and 
forty cents. This bought us fifty fine large cornu- 
copias, and candy to fill them all, and a great bun- 
dle of Christmas-greens. What fun we had buying 
the candy, and filling the horns ! And when Christ- 
mas-eve at last came, the fifty dolls said good-by, 
marched out of the house into an expressman's 
carriage, and so rode off to the asylum. 

Fifty dolls had never been seen there before, and 
their arrival created a grand excitement. But they 
were kept quiet from the children till Christmas 
morning, and on Christmas morning they woke up 
to find the great room dressed with greens, the 
Star in the East at one end and at the other the 
Cross, and festoons of greenery all between, and a 
dolly and candy for each one. Tabitha's dream 
had come true. Her bed-neighbor, 'Liza, was no 
longer there ; they had found for her a home in the 
great, far West, where kind people would take 
care of her until she grew up to be a little serving- 
maid, — to milk the cows and help about the house. 
But little Tabitha told her dream to 'Lisbeth, who 
had taken 'Liza's place, and hugged and squeezed 
her dolly, " her very own all the whole time." And 




so each of the fifty dolls found a new mamma and 
each of fifty children was made "/«--fectly happy." 
Only most of them ate their candy so all at once, 

that the doc- 
tor had to 

■ : /S ■111 \\i 

/f i 

'aw. «K 

think. The children were most of them not pretty 
and not bright, — not very merry, even, — and we 
could not but think of the prettier, and brighter, 
and happier children we knew. One little, sick 
child with red, weak eyes hugged her dolly tight, 
as though she could n't have 
■• . • so good a time very long. 
■ "Well, you've got your 

. ■ . dolly at last ; you 're always 

^SI^Se.'-"' hugging up some bundle or 

other, "said 
. ,-•'" • ■.'■ ;:■'" the nurse. 

m® ' 

Wv < d^T"^ if/ 



come next day, and give them each a dreadful dose 
of medicine. 

Sister Eliza and we two girls came later in the 
day, — and did we laugh or did we cry? Both, I 

The days are dull for these poor things, they 
have not much to brighten them ; we were very 
glad we had made the Star in the East shine once 
into their lives with Christmas brightness. 


By Joy Allison. 

When the short, bright summer of Lapland is ended, and the sun is about to set, to rise no more for seven or 
eight months, the people of the hamlets and villages ascend the neighboring hills to see the last of the Day 
God, and chant a requiem, or farewell psalm, for the parting day. 

" COME, little daughters, hasten, 
Ye should be bravely dight ! 
Make ready, boys ! for we go forth 
To bid the sun good-night. 

" Four months with steady shining 
He 's made the whole earth fair, 
And myriad bjossoms greeted him, 
And bird-sohgs filled the air. 

" But now October waneth ; 
His setting draweth near ; 

We shall not see his face again 
For more than half a year." 

So forth they go, together, 
Parents and children, all, 

The aged, and the little ones, 
Young men, and maidens tall. 

From many a neighboring village, 
From many a humble home, 

To climb the rocky summit 
The thronging people come. 





The sun hangs low in heaven ; 

He throws his slanting rays 
Across their loving faces, turned 

To meet his parting gaze. 

And now he 's gone ! The darkness 

Is settling like a pall, 
A long low dirge of sad farewel] 

Breaks from the lips of all ; 

In mournful cadence chanting 
The requiem of the sun, 

The dear bright day departed now, 
The long, long night begun. 

And yet with cheerful patience 
They take their homeward way, 

The elders talking how the time 
May best be whiled away. 

And many a youthful face is bright 
With glad expectance still, 

And many a merry little child 
Goes dancing down the hill. 


By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter III. 


For some days, nothing was seen and little was 
heard of the " dear sufferers," as the old ladies 
called them. But they were not forgotten ; the 
first words uttered when any of the young people 
met were: "How is Jack?" "Seen Jill yet?" 
and all waited with impatience for the moment 
when they could be admitted to their favorite mates, 
more than ever objects of interest now. 

Meantime, the captives spent the first few days in 
sleep, pain, and trying to accept the hard fact that 
school and play were done with for months perhaps. 
But young spirits are wonderfully elastic and soon 
cheer up, and healthy young bodies heal fast, or 
easily adapt themselves to new conditions. So our 
invalids began to mend on the fourth day, and to 
drive their nurses distracted with efforts to amuse 
them, before the first week was over. 

The most successful attempt originated in Ward 
No. I, as Mrs. Minot called Jack's apartment, 

and we will give our sympathizing readers some 
idea of this place, which became the stage whereon 
were enacted many varied and remarkable scenes. 

Each of the Minot boys had his own room, and 
there collected his own treasures and trophies, ar- 
ranged to suit his convenience and taste. Frank's 
was full of books, maps, machinery, chemical 
messes, and geometrical drawings, which adorned 
the walls like intricate cobwebs. A big chair, 
where he read and studied with his heels higher 
than his head, a basket of apples for refreshment 
at all hours of the day or night, and an immense 
inkstand, in which several pens were always ap- 
parently bathing their feet, were the principal 
ornaments of his scholastic retreat. 

Jack's hobby was athletic sports, for he was bent 
on having a strong and -active body for his happy 
little soul to live and enjoy itself in. So, a severe 
simplicity reigned in his apartment ; in summer, 
especially, for then his floor was bare., his windows 
were uncurtained, and the chairs uncushioned, the 




bed being as narrow and hard as Napoleon's. The 
only ornaments were dumb-bells, whips, bats, rods, 
skates, boxing-gloves, a big bath-pan and a small 
library, consisting chiefly of books on games, horses, 
health, hunting, and travels. In winter, his mother 
made things more comfortable by introducing rugs, 
curtains, and a fire. Jack, also, relented slightly in 
the severity of his training, occasionally indulging 
in the national buckwheat cake, instead of the pre- 
scribed oatmeal porridge, for breakfast, omitting 
his cold bath when the thermometer was below 
zero, and dancing at night, instead of running a 
given distance by day. 

Now, however, he was a helpless captive, given 
over to all sorts of coddling, laziness, and luxury, 
and there was a droll mixture of mirth and melan- 
choly in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed, watch- 
ing the comforts which had suddenly robbed his 
bower of its Spartan simplicity. A delicious couch 
was there, with Frank reposing in its depths, half 
hidden under several folios which he was consulting 
for a history of the steam-engine, the subject of his 
next composition. 

A white-covered table stood near, with all manner 
of dainties set forth in a way to tempt the sternest 
principles. Vases of flowers bloomed on the 
chimney-piece, — gifts from anxious young ladies, 
left with their love. Frivolous story-books and 
picture-papers strewed the bed, now shrouded in 
effeminate chintz-curtains, beneath which Jack lay 
like a wounded warrior in his tent. But the saddest 
sight for our crippled athlete was a glimpse, through 
a half-opened door, at the beloved dumb-bells, bats, 
balls, boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled 
ignominiously away in the bath-pan, mournfully 
recalling the fact that their day was over, now, at 
least for some time. 

He was about to groan dismally, when his eye 
fell on a sight which made him swallow the groan, 
and cough instead, as if it choked him a little. 
The sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low 
chair rolling bandages, with a basket beside her in 
which were piles of old linen, lint, plaster, and other 
matters, needed for the dressing of wounds. As 
he looked, Jack remembered how steadily and 
tenderly she had stood by him all through the hard 
times just past, and how carefully she had bathed 
and dressed his wound each day in spite of the 
effort it cost her to give him pain or even see him 

" That 'sa better sort of strength than swinging 
twenty-pound dumb-bells or running races ; I guess 
I '11 try for that kind, too, and not howl or let her 
see me squirm when the doctor hurts," thought the 
boy, as he saw that gentle face so pale and tired 
with much watching and anxiety, yet so patient, 
serene, and cheerful, that it was like sunshine. 

" Lie down and take a good nap, mother dear, I 
feel first-rate, and Frank can see to me if I want 
anything. Do, now," he added, with a persuasive 
nod toward the couch, and a boyish relish in stir- 
ring up his lazy brother. 

After some urging, mamma consented to go to 
her room for forty winks, leaving Jack in the care 
of Frank, begging him to be as quiet as possible if 
the dear boy wished to sleep, and to amuse him 
if he did not. 

Being worn out, Mrs. Minot lengthened her forty 
winks into a three hours' nap, and as the "dear 
boy " scorned repose, Mr. Frank had his hands 
full while on guard. 

"I '11 read to you. Here 's Watt, Arkwright, 
Fulton, and a lot of capital fellows, with pictures 
that will do your heart good. Have a bit, will 
you?" asked the new nurse, flapping the leaves 
invitingly, — for Frank had a passion for such 
things, and drew steam-engines all over his slate, 
as Tommy Traddles drew hosts of skeletons when 
low in his spirits. 

"I don't want any of your old boilers and 
stokers and whirligigs. I 'm tired of reading, and 
want something regularly jolly," answered Jack, 
who had been chasing white buffaloes with " The 
Hunters of the West," till he was a trifle tired and 

"Play cribbage, euchre, anything you like," 
and Frank obligingly disinterred himself from 
under the folios, feeling that it was hard for a fel- 
low to lie flat a whole week. 

"No fun; just two of us. Wish school was 
over, so the boys would come in ; doctor said I 
might see them now." 

" They '11 be along by and by, and I '11 hail 
them. Till then, what shall we do? I 'm your man 
for anything, only put a name to it." 

" Just wish I had a telegraph or a telephone, so 
I could talk to Jill. Would n't it be fun to pipe 
across and get an answer ! " 

"I '11 make either you say," and Frank looked 
as if trifles of that sort were to be had for the 

" Could you, really ? " 

"We'll start the telegraph first, then you can 
send things over if you like," said Frank, pru- 
dently proposing the surest experiment. 

" Go ahead, then. I 'd like that, and so would 
Jill, for I know she wants to hear from me." 

"There's one trouble, though; I shall have 
to leave you alone for a few minutes while I rig 
up the ropes," and Frank looked sober, for he 
was a faithful boy, and did not want to desert his 

"Oh, never mind; I wont want anything. If 
I do, I can pound for Ann." 

1 880.] 



" And wake mother. I '11 fix you a better way 
than that," and, full of inventive genius, our young 
Edison spliced the poker to part of a fishing-rod 
in a jiffy, making a long-handled hook which 
reached across the room. 

" There 's an arm for you ; now hook away, and 
let 's see how it works," he said, handing over the 
instrument to Jack, who proceeded to show its 
unexpected capabilities by hooking the cloth off 
the table in attempting to get his handkerchief, 
catching Frank by the hair when fishing for a book, 
and breaking a pane of glass in trying to draw down 
the curtain. 

"It's so everlasting long, I can't manage it," 
laughed Jack, as it finally caught in his bed- 
hangings, and nearly pulled them, ring and all, 
down upon his head. 

"Let it alone, unless you need something very 
much, and don't bother about the glass. It 's just 
what we want for the telegraph wire or rope to go 
through. Keep still, and I '11 have the thing run- 
ning in ten minutes," and, delighted with the job, 
Frank hurried away, leaving Jack to compose a 
message to send as soon as it was possible. 

" What in the world is that flying across Minot's 
yard — a brown hen or a boy's kite ? " exclaimed 
old Miss Hopkins, peering out of her window at 
the singular performances going on in her opposite 
neighbor's garden. 

First, Frank appeared with a hatchet and 
chopped a clear space in the hedge between his 
own house and the cottage : next, a clothes line 
was passed through this aperture and fastened 
somewhere on the other side ; lastly, a small cov- 
ered basket, slung on this rope, was seen hitching 
along, drawn either way by a set of strings ; 
then, as .if satisfied with his job, Frank retired, 
whistling "Hail Columbia." 

" It 's those children at their pranks again. I 
thought broken bones would n't keep them out of 
mischief long," said the old lady, watching with 
great interest the mysterious basket traveling up 
and down the rope from the big house to the 

If she had seen what came and went over the 
wires of the "Great International Telegraph," she 
would have laughed till her spectacles flew off her 
Roman nose. A letter from Jack, with a large 
orange, went first, explaining the new enterprise: 

" Dear Jill : It 's too bad you can 't come over to see me. I am 
pretty well, but awful tired of keeping still. I want t:> see you ever 
so much. Frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send 
things. Wont it be jolly ! I can't look out to see him do it; but, 
when you pull your string, my little bell rings, and I know a message 
is coming. I send you an orange. Do you like gorvcr jelly ? 
People send in lots of goodies, and we will go halves. Good-by. 


Away went the basket, and in fifteen minutes 

it came back from the cottage with nothing in it 
but the orange. 

"Hullo! is she mad?" asked Jack, as Frank 
brought the dispatch for him to examine. 

But, at the first touch, the hollow peel opened, 
and out fell a letter, two gum-drops, and an owl 
made of a pea-nut, with round eyes drawn at the 
end where the, stem formed a funny beak. Two 
bits of straw were the legs, and the face looked so 
like Dr. Whiting that both boys laughed at the 

" That 's so like Jill ; she 'd make fun if she was 
half dead. Let 's see what she says," and Jack 
read the little note, which showed a sad neglect of 
the spelling-book. 

"DearJacky: I can't stir and its horrid. The telly graf is very 
nice and we will have fun with it. I never ate any gorver jelly. The 
orange was first rate. Send me a book to read. All about bears and 
ships and crockydiles. The doctor was coming to see you, so I sent 
him the quickest way. Molly Loo says it is dreadful lonesome at 
school without us. — Yours truly, Jill." 

Jack immediately dispatched the book and a 
sample of guava jelly, which unfortunately upset 
on the way, to the great detriment of " The Wild 
Beasts of Asia and Africa." Jill promptly re- 
sponded with the loan of a tiny black kitten, who 
emerged spitting and scratching, to Jack's great 
delight; and he was cudgeling his brains as to 
how a fat white rabbit could be transported, when 
a shrill whistle from without saved Jill from that 
inconvenient offering. 

" It 's the fellows; do you want to see them?" 
asked Frank, gazing down with calm superiority 
upon the three eager faces which looked up at 

"Guess I do!" and Jack promptly threw the 
kitten overboard, scorning to be seen by any 
manly eye amusing himself with such girlish toys. 

Bang ! went the front door ; tramp, tramp, 
tramp, came six booted feet up the stairs ; and, as 
Frank threw wide the door, three large beings 
paused on the threshold to deliver the courteous 
" Hullo ! " which is the established greeting among 
boys on all social occasions. 

" Come along, old fellows ; I 'm ever so glad to 
see you ! " cried the invalid, with such energetic 
demonstrations of the arms that he looked as if 
about to fly or crow, like an excited young cockerel. 

" How are you, Major?" 

" Does the leg ache much, Jack?" 

" Mr. Phipps says you '11 have to pay for the 
new rails." 

With these characteristic greetings, the gentle- 
men cast away their hats and sat down, all grin- 
ning cheerfully, and all with eyes irresistibly fixed 
upon the dainties, which proved too much for the 
politeness of ever-hungry boys. 




" Help yourselves," said Jack, with a hospitable 
wave. " All the dear old ladies in town have been 
sending in nice things, and I can't begin to eat 
them up. Lend a hand and clear away this lot, or 
we shall have to pitch them out of the window. 
Bring on the doughnuts and the tarts and the 
shaky stuff in the entry closet, Frank, and let 's 
have a lark." 

No sooner said than done. Gus took the tarts, 
Joe the doughnuts, Ed the jelly, and Frank sug- 
gested "spoons all round" for the Italian cream. 
A few trifles in the way of custard, fruit, and wafer 
biscuits were not worth mentioning; but every 
dish was soon emptied, and Jack said, as he sur- 
veyed the scene of devastation with great satisfac- 
tion : 

" Call again to-morrow, gentlemen, and we will 
have another bout. Free lunches at 5 P. M. till 
further notice. Now tell me all the news." 

For half an hour, five tongues went like mill 
clappers, and there is no knowing when they would 
have stopped if the little bell had not suddenly 
rung with a violence that made them jump. 

" That 's Jill ; see what she wants, Frank;" and 
while his brother sent off the basket, Jack told 
about the new invention, and invited his mates to 
examine and admire. 

They did so, and shouted with merriment when 
the next dispatch from Jill arrived. A pasteboard 
jumping-jack, with one leg done up in cotton-wool 
to preserve the likeness, and a great lump of 
molasses candy in a brown paper, with accompany- 
ing note : 

" Dear Sir : I saw the boys go in, and know you are having a 
nice time, so I send over the candy Molly Loo and Merry brought 
me. Mammy says I can't eat it, and it will all melt away if I 
keep it. Also a picture of Jack Minot, who will dance on one leg 
and waggle the other, and make you laugh. I wish I could come, 
too. Don't you hate grewel? I do. — In haste, J. P." 

" Let 's all send her a letter," proposed Jack, 
and out came pens, ink, paper, and the lamp, and 
every one fell to scribbling. A droll collection was 
the result, for Fred drew a picture of the fatal fall, 
with broken rails flying in every direction, Jack 
with his head swollen to the size of a balloon, and 
Jill in two pieces, while the various boys and girls 
were hit off with a sly skill that gave Gus legs like 
a stork, Molly Loo hair several yards long, and Boo 
a series of visible howls coming out of an immense 
mouth in the shape of o's. The oxen were partic- 
ularly good, for their horns branched like those of 
the moose, and Mr. Grant had a patriarchal beard 
which waved in the breeze as he bore the wounded 
girl to a sled very like a funeral pyre, the stakes 
being crowned with big mittens like torches. 

" You ought to be an artist. I never saw such 

a dabster as you are. That 's the very moral of 
Joe, all in a bunch on the fence, with a blot to 
show how purple his nose was," said Gus, holding 
up the sketch for general criticism and admiration. 

" I 'd rather have a red nose than legs like a 
grasshopper; so you need n't twit, Daddy," 
growled Joe, quite unconscious that a blot actually 
did adorn his nose, as he labored over a brief 

The boys enjoyed the joke, and one after the 
other read out his message to the captive lady : 

"Dear Jill: Sorry you aint here. Great fun. Jack pretty lively. 
Laura and Lot would send love if they knew of the chance. Fly 
round and get well. Gus." 

"Dear Gilliflower: Hope you are pretty comfortable in your 
' dungeon cell.' Would you like a serenade when the moon comes? 
Hope you will soon be up again, for we miss you very much. Shall 
be very happy to help in any way I can. Love to your mother. 
Your true friend, E. D." 

"Miss Pecq. 

"Dear Madam : I am happy to tell you that we are all well, and 
hope you are the same. I gave Jem Cox a licking because he went 
to your desk. You had better send for your books. You wont have 
to pay for the sled or the fence. Jack says he will see to it. We 
have been having a spread over here. First rate things, I would n't 
mind breaking a leg if I had such good grub and no chores to do. 
No more now, from yours with esteem, Joseph P. Flint." 

Joe thought that an elegant epistle, having copied 
portions of it from the " Letter Writer," and proudly 
read it off to the boys, who assured him that Jill 
would be much impressed. 

"Now Jack, hurry up and let us send the lot off, 
for we must go," said Gus, as Frank put the letters 
in the basket, and the clatter of tea-things was heard 

" I 'm not going to show mine. It 's private and 
you must n't look," answered Jack, putting down an 
envelope with such care that no one had a chance 
to peep. 

But Joe had seen the little note copied, and, while 
the others were at the window working the telegraph 
he caught up the original, carelessly thrust by Jack 
under the pillow, and read it aloud before any one 
knew what he was about. 

" My Dear : I wish I could send you some of my good times. 
As I can't, I send you much love, and I hope you will try and be 
patient as I am going to, for it was our fault, and we must not make 
a fuss now. Aint mothers sweet ? Mine is coming over to-morrow 
to see you and tell me how you are. This round thing is a kiss for 
good-night Your Jack." 

"Is n't that spoony? You 'd better hide your 
face, I think. He 's getting to be a regular molly- 
coddle, is n't he ? " jeered Joe, as the boys laughed, 
and then grew sober, seeing Jack's head buried in 
the bedclothes, after sending a pillow at his tor- 

It nearly hit Mrs. Minot, coming in with her 




patient's tea on a tray, and, at sight of her, the 
guests hurriedly took leave, Joe nearly tumbling 
down-stairs to escape from Frank, who would have 
followed, if his mother had not said, quickly : 
" Stay, and tell me what is the matter." 
" Only teasing Jack a bit. Don't be mad, old 
boy, Joe did n't mean any harm, and it was rather 
soft, now was n't it ? " asked Frank, trying to ap- 
pease the wounded feelings of his brother. 

" I charged you not to worry him. Those boys 
were too much for the poor dear, and I ought not 
to have left him," said mamma, as she vainly 

" Serves him right," muttered Jack with a frown. 
Then, as a wail arose suggestive of an unpleasant 
mixture of snow in the mouth and thumps on the 
back, he burst out laughing, and said good-na- 
turedly, "Go and stop them, Frank, I wont mind, 
only tell him it was a mean trick. Hurry, Gus is 
so strong, and he does n't know how his pounding 

Off ran Frank, and Jack told his wrongs to his 
mother. She sympathized heartily, and saw no 
harm in the affectionate little note, which would 
please Jill, and help her to bear her trials patiently. 

' •md^^^^k [I i j ! jL— iiaS 

'help yourselves!' said jack.' 

endeavored to find and caress the yellow head, 
burrowed so far out of sight that nothing but one 
red ear was visible. 

" He liked it, and we got on capitally till Joe 
roughed him about Jill. Ah, Joe 's getting it now ! 

" It is n't silly to be fond of her, is it? She is so 
nice and funny, and tries to be good, and likes me, 
and I wont be ashamed of my friends, if folks do 
laugh," protested Jack, with a rap of his tea-spoon. 
No, dear, it is quite kind and proper, and I 'd 

I thought Gus and Ed would do that little job for rather have you play with a merry little girl, than 

me," added Frank, running to the window as the 
sound of stifled cries and laughter reached him. 

The red ear heard also, and Jack popped up his 
head to ask with interest : 

" What are they doing to him ?" 

" Rolling him in the snow, and he 's howling 
like fun." 

with rough boys, till you are big enough to hold 
your own," answered mamma, putting thecup to his 
lips that the reclining lad might take his broma 
without spilling. 

" Pooh ! I do n't mean that, I 'm strong enough 
now to take care of myself," cried Jack, stoutly. 
" I can thrash Joe any day, if I like. Just look at my 

Vol. VII. 





arm ; there 's muscle for you ! " and up went a sleeve, 
to the great danger of overturning the tray, as the 
boy proudly displayed his biceps and expanded his 
chest, both of which were very fine for a lad of his 
years. " If I 'd been on my legs, he would n't have 
dared to insult me, and it was cowardly to hit a 
fellow when he was down." 

Mrs. Minot wanted to laugh at Jack's indigna- 
tion, but the bell rang, and she had to go and pull 
in the basket, much amused at the new game. 

Burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the 
big boys, Jill had sent over a tall, red-flannel night- 
cap, which she had been making for some proposed 
Christmas plays, and added the following verse, 
for she was considered a gifted rhymester at the 
game parties : 

" When it comes night, 
We put out the light. 
Some blow with a puff, 
Some tum down and snuff, 
But neat folks prefer 
A nice extinguisher. 
So here I send you back 
One to put on Mr. Jack." 

" Now, I call that regularly smart ; not one of us 
could do it, and I just wish Joe was here to see it. 
I want to send once more, something good for tea ; 
she hates gruel so," and the last dispatch which the 
Great International Telegraph carried that day was 
a baked apple and a warm muffin, with "J. M's 
best regards." 

Chapter IV. 

WARD NO. 2. 

THINGS were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs. 
Pecq was very busy, and Jill had nothing to amuse 
her but flying visits from the girls, and such little 
plays as she could invent for herself in bed. 
Fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on 
pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and 
the active child ached in every limb to be up 
and out. That, however, was impossible, for the 
least attempt to sit or stand brought on the pain 
that took her breath away and made her glad to 
lie flat again. The doctor spoke cheerfully, but 
looked sober, and Mrs. Pecq began to fear that 
Janey was to be a cripple for life. She said noth- 
ing, but Jill's quick eyes saw an added trouble in 
the always anxious face, and it depressed her spirits, 
though she never guessed half the mischief the 
fall had done. 

The telegraph was a great comfort, and the two 
invalids kept up a lively correspondence, not to say 
traffic in light articles, for the Great International 
was the only aerial express in existence. But even 
this amusement flagged after a time ; neither had 
much to tell, and when the daily health bulletins 
had been exchanged, messages gave out, and the 
basket's travels grew more and more infrequent. 

Neither could read all the time, games were soon 
used up, their mates were at school most of the 
day, and after a week or two the poor children 
began to get pale and fractious with the confine- 
ment, always so irksome to young people. 

•' I do believe the child will fret herself into a 
fever, mem, and I 'm clean distraught to know 
what to do for her. She never used to mind trifles, 
but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can't 
change them. This wall-paper is well enough, 
but she has taken a fancy that the spots on it look 
like spiders, and it makes her nervous. I 've no 
other warm place to put her, and no money for a 
new paper. Poor lass ! there are hard times before 
her, I 'm fearing." 

Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs. 
Minot, who came in as often as she could, to see 
what her neighbor needed ; for both mothers were 
anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another. 
While one woman talked, the other looked about 
the little room, not wondering in the least that Jill 
found it hard to be contented there. It was very 
neat, but so plain that there was not even a picture 
on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel, 
except the necessary clock, lamp and match-box. 
The paper was ugly, being a deep buff with a 
brown figure that did look very like spiders sprawl- 
ing over it, and might well make one nervous to 
look at day after day. 

Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr. Whiting 
had sent, with a mattress to make it soft. The 
back could be raised or lowered at will ; but only a 
few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin 
hair pillow was all she could bear. She looked 
very pretty as she lay, with dark lashes against the 
feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a cloud of curly 
black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm. 
She seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull 
place, — for the French blood in her veins gave her 
a color, warmth, and grace which were very charm- 
ing. Her natural love of beauty showed itself in 
many ways : a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a 
gay but faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and 
the gifts sent her were arranged with care upon 
the table by her side among her own few toys and 
treasures. There was something pathetic in this 
childish attempt to beautify the poor place, and 
Mrs. Minot's eyes were full as she looked at the 
tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay there 
in such sad plight. 

" My dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one 
another through the hard times," she said, with a 
soft hand on the rough one and a look that prom- 
ised much. 

"Please God, we will, mem! With such good 
friends, I never should complain. I try not to do 
it, but it breaks my heart to see my little lass 



spoiled for life, most like," and Mrs. Pecq pressed 
the kind hand with a despondent sigh. 

" We wont say, or even think, that, yet. Every- 
thing is possible to youth and health like Janey's. 
We must keep her happy, and time will do the 
rest, I 'm sure. Let us begin at once, and have a 
surprise for her when she wakes." 

As she spoke, Mrs. Minot moved quietly about 
the room, pinning the pages of several illustrated 
papers against the wall at the foot of the bed, and 
placing to the best advantage the other comforts 
she had brought. 

"Keep up your heart, neighbor. I have an 
idea in my head which I think will help us all, if I 
can carry it out," she said, cheerily, as she went, 
leaving Mrs. Pecq to sew on Jack's new night- 
gowns, with swift fingers, and the grateful wish 
that she might work for these good friends forever. 

As if the whispering and rustling had disturbed 
her, Jill soon began to stir, and slowly opened the 
eyes which had closed so wearily on the dull 
December afternoon. The bare wall with its brown 
spiders no longer confronted her, but the colored 
print of a little girl dancing to the tune her father 
was playing on a guitar, while a stately lady, with 
satin dress, ruff, and powder, stood looking on, well 
pleased. The quaint figure, in its belaced frock, 
quilted petticoat, and red-heeled shoes, seemed to 
come tripping toward her in such a life-like way, 
that she almost saw the curls blow back, heard the 
rustle of the rich brocade, and caught the sparkle 
of the little maid's bright eyes. 

" Oh, how pretty ! Who sent them ? " asked 
Jill, eagerly, as her eye glanced along the wall, 
seeing other new and interesting things beyond : 
an elephant-hunt, a ship in full sail, a horse race, 
and a ball-room. 

" The good fairy who never comes empty-handed. 
Look round a bit and you will see more pretties, — 
all for you, my dearie," and her mother pointed to 
a bunch of purple grapes in a green leaf plate, a 
knot of bright flowers pinned on the white curtain, 
and a gay little double gown across the foot of the 

Jill clapped her hands, and was enjoying her 
new pleasures, when in came Merry arid Molly Loo, 
with Boo, of course, trotting after her like a fat 
and amiable puppy. Then the good times began ; 
the gown was put on, the fruit tasted, and the pict- 
ures were studied like famous works of art. 

" It 's a splendid plan to cover up that hateful 
wall. I 'd stick pictures all round and have a gallery. 
That reminds me ! Up in the garret at our house 
is a box full of old fashion-books my aunt left. I 
often look at them on rainy days, and they are very 
funny. I '11 go this minute and get every one. 
We can pin them up, or make paper dolls," and 

away rushed Molly Loo, with the small brother 
waddling behind, for, when he lost sight of her, he 
was desolate indeed. 

The girls had fits of laughter over the queer cos- 
tumes of years gone by, and put up a splendid 
procession of ladies in full skirts, towering hats, 
pointed slippers, powdered hair, simpering faces, 
and impossible waists. 

" I do think this bride is perfectly splendid, the 
long train and vail are so sweet," said Jill, reveling 
in fine clothes as she turned from one plate to 

" I like the elephants best, and I 'd give any- 
thing to go on a hunt like that ! " cried Molly Loo, 
who rode cows, drove any horse she could get, had 
nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog 
that ever barked. 

" I fancy ' The Dancing Lesson ' ; it is so sort of 
splendid, with the great windows, gold chairs, and 
fine folks. Oh, I would like to live in a castle with 
a father and mother like that," said Merry, who 
was romantic, and found the old farm-house on 
the hill a sad trial to her high-flown ideas of ele- 

"Now, that ship, setting out for some far- 
away place, is more to my mind. I weary for 
home now and then, and mean to see it again 
some day," and Mrs. Pecq looked longingly 
at the English ship, though it was evidently out- 
ward bound. Then, as if reproaching herself for 
discontent, she added : " It looks like those I used 
to see going off to India with a load of missionaries. 
I came near going myself once, with a lady bound 
for Siam ; but I went to Canada with her sister, 
and here I am." 

" I 'd like to be a missionary and go where folks 
throw their babies to the crocodiles. I 'd watch 
and fish them out, and have a school, and bring 
them up, and convert all the people till they knew 
better," said warm-hearted Molly Loo, who be- 
friended every abused animal and forlorn child 
she met. 

"We need n't go to Africa to be missionaries; 
they have 'em nearer home and need 'em, too. In 
all the big cities there are a many, and they have 
their hands full with the poor, the wicked and the 
helpless. One can find that sort of work anywhere, 
if one has a mind," said Mrs. Pecq. 

" I wish we had some to do here. I 'd so like to 
go round with baskets of tea and rice, and give out 
tracts and talk to people. Would n't you, girls?" 
asked Molly, much taken with the new idea. 

"It would be rather nice to have a society all 
to ourselves, and have meetings and resolutions 
and things," answered Merry, who was fond of 
little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing 
circle with her mother. 




" We would n't let the boys come in. We 'd 
have it a secret society, as they do their temper- 
ance lodge, and we 'd have badges and pass-words 
and grips. It would be fun if we can only get 
some heathen to work at ! " cried Jill, ready for 
fresh enterprises of every sort. 

" I can tell you some one to begin on right 
away," said her mother, nodding at her. "As 
wild a little savage as I 'd wish to see. Take her 
in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her. 
Begin at home, my lass, and you '11 find mission- 
ary work enough for a while." 

long for castles before she knows how to do her 
own tasks well," was the first unexpected reply. 

Merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly, 
resolving to do what she could, and surprised to 
find how many ways seemed open to her after a 
few minutes' thought. 

"Where shall I begin? I 'm -not afraid of a 
dozen crocodiles after Miss Bat," and Molly Loo 
looked about her with a fierce air, having had prac- 
tice in battles with the old lady who kept her 
father's house. 

" Well, dear, you have n't far to look for as nice 


" Now, mammy, you mean me ! Well, I will 
begin ; and I '11 be so good, folks wont know me. 
Being sick makes naughty children behave in story- 
books, I '11 see if live ones can't ; " and Jill put on 
such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and 
asked for their missions also, thinking they would 
be the same. 

" You, Merry, might do a deal at home helping 
mother, and setting the big brothers a good exam- 
ple. One little girl in a house can do pretty 
much as she will, especially if she has a mind to 
make plain things nice and comfortable, and not 

a little heathen as you 'd wish," and Mrs. Pecq 
glanced at Boo, who sat on the floor staring 
hard at them, attracted by the dread word "croc- 
odile." He had a cold and no handkerchief, his 
little hands were red with chilblains, his clothes 
shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of his 
stockings, and a head of tight curls that evidently 
had not been combed for some time. 

" Yes, I know he is, and I try to keep him 
decent, but I forget, and he hates to be fixed, and 
Miss Bat does n't care, and father laughs when I 
talk about it." 




Poor Molly Loo looked much ashamed as she 
made excuses, trying at the same time to mend 
matters by seizing Boo and dusting him all over 
with her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as 
if ringing bells, and then dumping him down again 
with the despairing exclamation: ''Yes, we're a 
pair of heathens, and there 's no one to save us if I 

That was true enough ; for Molly's father was a 
busy man. careless of everything but his mills. 
Miss Bat was old and lazy, and felt as if she might 
take life easy after serving the motherless children 
for many years as well as she knew how. Molly- 
was beginning to see how much amiss things were 
at home, and old enough to feel mortified, though, 
as yet, she had done nothing to mend the matter 
except be kind to the little boy. 

" You will, my dear," answered Mrs. Pecq, 
encouragingly, for she knew all about it. " Now 
you 've each got a mission, let us see how well 
you will get on. Keep it secret, if you like, 
and report once a week. I '11 be a member, and 
we '11 do great things yet." 

"We wont begin till after Christmas; there is 
so much to do, we never shall have time for any 
more. Don't tell, and we '11 start fair at New 
Year's, if not before," said Jill, taking the lead as 
usual. Then they went on with the gay ladies, 
who certainly were heathen enough in dress to be 
in sad need of conversion, — to common sense at 

" I feel as if I was at a party," said Jill, after a 
pause occupied in surveying her gallery with great 
satisfaction, for dress was her delight, and here she 
had every conceivable style and color. 

"Talking of parties, isn't it too bad that we 
must give up our Christmas fun ? Can't get on 
without you and Jack, so we are not going to do a 
thing, but just have our presents," said Merry, 
sadly, as they began to fit different heads and 
bodies together, to try droll effects. 

" I shall be all well in a fortnight, I know ; but 
Jack wont, for it will take more than a month to 
mend his poor leg. May be, they will have a dance 
in the boys' big room, and he can look on," sug- 
gested Jill, with a glance at the dancing damsel on 
the wall, for she dearly loved it, and never guessed 
how long it would be before her light feet should 
keep time to music again. 

" You 'd better give Jack a hint about the party. 
Send over some smart ladies, and say they have 
come to his Christmas ball," proposed audacious 
Molly Loo, always ready for fun. 

So they put a preposterous green bonnet, top- 
heavy with plumes, on a little lady in yellow, who 
sat in a carriage ; the lady beside her, in winter 
costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted 

to a bride's head with its orange flowers and vail, 
and these works of art were sent over to Jack, 
labeled " Miss Laura and Lotty Burton going to 
the Minots' Christmas ball," — a piece of naughti- 
ness on Jill's part, for she knew Jack liked the 
pretty sisters, whose gentle manners made her own 
wild ways seem all the more blamable. 

No answer came for a long time, and the girls 
had almost forgotten their joke in a game of Let- 
ters, when " Tingle, tangle ! " went the bell, and the 
basket came in laden heavily. A roll of colored 
papers was tied outside, and within was a box 
that rattled, a green and silver horn, a roll of nar- 
row ribbons, a spool of strong thread, some large 
needles, and a note from Mrs. Minot : 

" Dear Jill: I think of having a Christmas tree so that our invalids 
can enjoy it, and all your elegantfriends are cordially invited. Know- 
ing that you would like to help, I send some paper for sugar-plum 
horns and some beads for necklaces. They will brighten the tree 
and please the girls for themselves or their dolls. Jack sends you a 
horn for a pattern, and will you make a ladder-necklace to show him 
how ? Let me know if you need anything. — Yours in haste, 

" Anna Minot." 

" She knew what the child would like, bless 
her kind heart," said Mrs. Pecq to herself, and 
something brighter than the most silvery bead 
shone on Jack's shirt-sleeve, as she saw the rapture 
of Jill over the new work and the promised pleasure. 

Joyful cries greeted the opening of the box, for 
bunches of splendid large bugles appeared in all 
colors, and a lively discussion went on as to the 
best contrasts. Jill could not refuse to let her 
friends share the pretty work, and soon three neck- 
laces glittered on three necks, as each admired her 
own choice. 

" I 'd be willing to hurt my back dreadfully, if I 
could lie and do such lovely things all day," said 
Merry, as she reluctantly put down her needle at 
last, for home duties waited to be done, and looked 
more than ever distasteful after this new pleasure. 

" So would I ! Oh, do you, think Mrs. Minot 
will let you fill the horns when they are done ? I 'd 
love to help you then. Be sure you send for me ! " 
cried Molly Loo, arching her neck like a proud 
pigeon to watch the glitter of her purple and silver 
necklace on her brown gown. 

" I 'm afraid you could n't be trusted, you love 
sweeties so, and I 'm sure Boo could n't. But I '11 
see about it," replied Jill, with a responsible air. 

The mention of the boy recalled him to their 
minds, and looking round they found him peace- 
fully absorbed in polishing up the floor with Molly's 
pocket-handkerchief and oil from the little ma- 
chine-can. Being torn from this congenial labor, 
he was carried off shining with oil and roaring 

But Jill did not mind her loneliness now, and 




sang like a happy canary while she threaded her 
sparkling beads, or hung the gay horns to dry. 
readv for their cargoes of sweets. So Mrs. Minot's 

recipe for sunshine proved successful, and mother- 
wit made the wintry day a bright and happy one 
for both the little prisoners. 

(To be continued.) 

By Paul H. Hayne. 

CROUCHED low in a sordid chamber, 
With a cupboard of empty shelves, — 

Half starved, and, alas ! unable 
To comfort or help themselves, — 

Two children were left forsaken, 
All orphaned of mortal care ; 

But with spirits too close to Heaven 
To be tainted by Earth's despair, — 

Alone in that crowded city, 

Which shines like an Arctic star, 

* The "copeck" is a Russian coin of about a cent's value in our currency. 

By the banks of the frozen Neva, 
In the realm of the mighty Czar. 

Now, Max was an urchin of seven ; 
» But his delicate sister, Leeze, 
With the crown of her rippling ringlets, 
Could scarcely have reached your knees ! 

As he looked on his sister weeping, 
And tortured by hunger's smart, 

A Thought like an Angel entered 
At the door of his opened heart. 




He wrote on a fragment of paper, — 
With quivering hand and soul, — 

Please send to me, Christ ! three copecks, 
To purchase for Leeze a roll T '" 

Then, rushed to a church, his missive 
To drop, — ere the vesper psalms, — 

As the surest mail bound Christward, — 
In the unlocked Box for Alms ! 

" But not without Leeze?" "No, surely, 
We '11 have a rare party of three ; 
Go, tell her that somebody 's waiting 
To welcome her home to tea." 

That night, in the coziest cottage, 
The orphans were safe at rest, 

Each snug as a callow birdling 
In the depths of its downy nest. 

While he stood upon tiptoe to reach it, 
One passed from the priestly band, 

And with smile like a benediction 
Took the note from his eager hand. 

Having read it, the good man's bosom 
Grew warm with a holy joy : 
" Ah ! Christ may have heard you already, 
Will you come to my house, my boy?" 

And the next Lord's Day, in his pulpit, 
The preacher so spake of these 

Stray lambs from the fold, which- Jesus 
Had blessed by the sacred seas; — 

So recounted their guileless story, 
As he held each child by the hand, 

That the hardest there could feel it, 
And the dullest could understand. 




O'er the eyes of the listening fathers 

There floated a gracious mist; 
And oh, how the tender mothers 

Those desolate darlings kissed ! 

You have given your tears," said the preacher, 

"Heart-alms we should none despise; — 
But the open palm, my children, 
Is more than the weeping eyes ! " 

Then followed a swift collection, 
From the altar steps to the door, 

Till the sum of two thousand rubles 
The vergers had counted o'er. 

So you see that the unmailed letter 
Had somehow gone to its goal. 

And more than three copecks gathered 
To purchase for Leeze a roll ! 




By S. S. Colt. 

GEORGIE meant to be a good boy, but he very 
seldom did anything that he was told to do. He 
nearly always forgot it. Once, when his sister May 
was very sick, he was sent after some medicine for 
her. So he started in a great hurry; but he met 
Fred Smith with his dog, and Fred coaxed him to 
go and coast "just once " down the long Red Hill. 
Then he forgot all about May and the medicine 
until it was quite dark, and, he felt so sorry and 
ashamed that he ran home, and crept up the back 
stair-way to bed, hungry and lonely and cold. 

By and by, he fell asleep, and when he awoke he 
was in a new and strange place. He found him- 
self in a house which was only partially covered by 
a roof, and the rain came in through the uncovered 
part and dropped upon his bed. Georgie sat up 
and looked around him. There was a fire-place in 
the room, besides some wood and kindlings, which 
the poor, shivering little fellow eyed very wistfully, 
thinking that some one might perhaps light a fire. 
It was very chilly, and his teeth chattered. There 
was a wee old woman sitting in the chimney-corner, 
and Georgie spoke to her. 

" What is it you want, Jimmie ? " she said. 

" Will you please tell me what your name is, 
and where I am ? " he asked. 

" My name — well, really, I forget it just now," 
she replied, "but you are in the Land of Short 
Memories — that, I am aware of ! " 

" But what shall I call you?" asked Georgie. 

" Oh, call me Mite ! That will do as well as any- 
other name till you forget it, Henry." 

" My name is Georgie." 

" Is it? Well, I will try and recollect it. ' Tom,' 
you said it was, did n't you ? " 

" No, I did n't ! " retorted Georgie, getting cross 
with the old lady, for he thought she meant to 
tease him. 

" There, there ! " cried Mite ; " the doctors said 
you must not get excited, or else that you must, I 
forget which. Do you want anything to eat ? " 

" Yes, I should like to have some gruel." 

" I will make you some," said she. "I have a 
nice fire here, or I should have, only that I seem to 
have forgotten to light the kindlings." 

While she was bustling around, busy with the 
gruel, Georgie lay quite still, looking out where 
there was no roof, at the blue sky, which he could 
now see, for it had ceased raining. 

" Why don't you have the roof cover the whole 
of your house ? " asked Georgie of the old lady. ' 

"The rest of the roof is somewhere around," 
said she. " I guess the workmen forgot to put it 
on. Now, here is your nice gruel all ready for 

" Why, it is cold ! " exclaimed the disappointed 
Georgie, who was quite hungry. 

" Sure enough ; I forgot to boil it ! " said the old 

"And I don't see anything in the bowl but 
water ! " 

" Dear me ! Dear me ! " said Mite. " I must 
have forgotten to put any meal in it ! " 

Georgie now began to cry. 

"Don't cry, don't cry, Johnnie," said Mite, "I 
will boil a chicken for you by and by, if I don't for- 
get it. Here are the doctors coming to see you 
now, and you must sit up and talk with them." 

Pretty soon two doctors came in, and one of them 
asked Mite if she felt better to-day. 

" Yes, I think I do," said she. 

"Did you take the medicine I ordered for you?" 
asked the other doctor. 

" I suppose I did, but I don't remember," an- 
swered Mite. Then the doctors felt her pulse, 
looked at her tongue, and said she must take some 
salts, and went away. When they had left the 
house, Georgie began to cry more loudly than 

" What is the matter, Fred ? " demanded Mite. 

"My name is not Fred, I tell you ! " screamed 

"Nevermind; I always forget your name, so I 
call you by anything I can think of. But tell me 
what makes you cry." 

"Why, I am sick, and I thought the doctors 
were coming to see me ! " 

"Bless my stars!" exclaimed the old lady, 
"sure enough, I was not the one that was sick! 
I meant to have remembered and told the doctors 
that they came to see you ; but I forgot it when 
they looked at my tongue. I '11 run after them 
and call them back ! " 

So, away went Mite, and was gone ever so long. 
When she came back, she said she could not find 
#he doctors anywhere, and everybody had forgotten 
where they lived, so that no one could go after 
them. "I'm sorry," said Mite, "but it can't be 
helped, for you know we live in the Land of Short 

Then Georgie cried still more bitterly. " I wish 
I could go home," he said. " I am sure I shall die 




here ! I wish I could go home ! I would never 
forget to mind mother again ! " 

As soon as he had said this, he heard a familiar 
voice pleading, " Ma, may n't I go for Georgie's 
medicine ? I wont forget to bring it ! " 

Georgie turned slowly in his little bed and saw 
his sister May. Next, his eyes rested on his 
mother, who looked very pale and thin, but sweet 
and smiling. 

" Oh, Ma, have I come back to you ? " he cried, 
with a sigh. 

" We hope so, Georgie," replied his mother. 
" You have had a bad fever, just like May's, and 
been very sick, but you soon will get well now." 

" Did May die, because I forgot her medicine?" 

"No. Father came home and got it for her, 
and she is well now, and has helped me take care 
of you ; but you have not seemed to know her, 
and have called her Mite ever since you were taken 

" Mother," said Georgie, very earnestly, "I am 
going to try not to forget things any more ! " 

And Georgie did try. When he became well, 
and was sent upon errands, he always thought of 
Mite, and the gruel, and the doctors, and the Land 
of Short Memories, where he went in his fever- 
dreams, and he was cured of the very bad habit of 
forgetting his duty. 





By Charles Barnard. 

It was ten o'clock Christmas morning, and the 
sun looked in at Jane Brown's window and found 
her fast asleep. The morning half gone, and still 
asleep ! Jane Brown ! you are odd. Though it 
was so late, she slept right on, as if it was quite the 
proper thing. At half-past ten she woke, dressed, 
and went down-stairs, and at eleven she sat down 
to breakfast. Her father and mother had their 
breakfast at eight o'clock, and this second breakfast 
was for Jane alone. Jane Brown ! you live in a 
style quite uncommon for a ten-year-old girl. 

Jacob Brown was a porter in a down-town store. 
His wife was a clear-starcher, and their only child 
was a fairy. The wages earned by a porter are not 
very much ; clear-starching pays very little ; and 
so it came that Jane was obliged to be a fairy. 
Then, father had been sick and lost his wages for 
months, and mother had to let the clear-starching 
go and attend to him. So it happened that the 
Browns were in debt for the rent of the rooms in 
East Thirteenth street. The landlord had been 
kind, and let them stay in the place while Jane 
helped to make up the arrears of rent by being a 

Of course, the moment you talk about fairies 
you expect something uncommon. This particular 
fairy got up late, had breakfast near noon, had 
dinner at four, and became a fairy at eight o'clock 
in the evening. No ! Stop ! This is a mistake. 
She was a fairy all the time. All fairies are good. 
Jane was very good, and as soon as breakfast was 
over she took up a white skirt and began to mend 
a place that had been torn the night before, when 
she was flying. The material, we are informed, was 
called " illusion," which was quite proper for afairy. 

At half-past seven o'clock, Jane laid the illusion 
skirt and a white body, a pair of white shoes and 
pink socks, in a little hand-bag. Then she drew a 
warm brown cloak over her every-day dress, put on 
a felt hat and a pair of stout boots, and prepared 
for the regular fairy business. She had blue eyes 
and reddish-yellow hair and a pretty little nose, 
and, altogether, she was quite a nice-looking child. 
No, that 's another mistake ; not a child, but really 
a fairy. She kissed her mother good-night, and 
said to her father : 

" You need n't come for me till a quarter before 
twelve. Columbine has a new piece, and Mr. 
Smitens is going to try his double-basket act." 

" Christmas is always a late night," said her 
father. "Oh, by the way, Jane, the landlord is 

coming early in the morning. I have saved a little 
something, and you might ask the manager if he 
can pay you to-night instead of to-morrow night." 

" There '11 be plenty of money in the house to- 
night. I '11 ask for some. Besides, my belt is tight 
for me and I mean to ask for a new one." 

Then she kissed her father, for she was a good 
fairy, and started out alone into the snowy streets. 
The stores were all open and brightly lighted. 
Every window was filled with Christmas gifts. In 
the street, sleighs were passing, filled with happy 
children, all intent on enjoying the holiday. Some 
of them saw a little girl in a brown cloak looking 
in at a toy-shop window, but not one of them knew 
it was a fairy. Then she walked on, and in a few 
moments overtook two more fairies, Sarah Levine 
and Catherine Stranmers. She joined them, and, 
gaily chatting, they walked on together till they 
came to a narrow back street. They turned down 
this street, and presently came to a tall brick build- 
ing having a curious narrow door, two stories high. 

Such a remarkable place ! On one side, a lofty 
brick wall ; on the other, tall wooden screens cov- 
ered with canvas ; beyond these, a vast space, black 
and strange. Everywhere, people, both men and 
women, workmen in their shirt-sleeves, gas-men, 
and carpenters. The three fairies passed between 
the canvas screens and entered the dim space be- 
yond. At the left, was a large green cloth swelling 
out in the wind like the mainsail of a ship, and 
from behind it came a confused murmur of voices 
and the sound of musical instruments being tuned. 
Opposite, were more tall screens, and, to the right, 
a monster picture, as big as a house and represent- 
ing an ancient castle. Overhead, was a wild tangle 
of ropes, machinery, and gas-lamps. 

" Please take my bag to the dressing-room, 
Kate ; I want to see the manager," said Jane. 

Kate took the bag, for she was a good-natured 
fairy, and Jane turned to the left, passed between 
the canvas screens, and came to a small door in the 
brick wall. There was a man there, on guard, but 
he let her pass, and, in a moment, she stepped from 
the cool, dim place into the warmth and light of a 
large theater. What a great company of children 
and ladies ! Jane looked out on the multitude of 
happy faces, and wondered how it would seem to be 
rich and comfortable and to go to the theater and 
see fairy pieces, instead of working in them. 

No time to think about that now. The con- 
ductor was already in his place. She must hurry 




in order to get back before the play would begin. 
She walked up the side aisle till she came to a little 
door near the entrance. She knocked, and some- 
body inside said " Come in." She opened the 
door and stood in the manager's office. An elderly 
gentleman sat at a desk counting a big pile of 
bills, and behind him was a little clerk perched on 
a high stool. Jane waited a moment, and then the 
gentleman looked up and said : 

" Well, my child, what can I do for you ? " 

"If you please, sir, the landlord is coming to- 
morrow, and I should like my money to-night." 

"Bless us! Landlords are terrible animals. 
We must give you something to scare him away." 

"Yes, sir; but our landlord is real good, and I'm 
paying up the arrears, and, if I can have it, I 'd 
like my pay now." 

" Oh, certainly ! Here, Lawson, give Miss Brown 
her wages and the little surprise. Don't forget the 
surprise, Lawson." 

The little clerk opened a drawer and counted 
out sixteen silver half-dollars, and gave them to 
Jane. Then he whispered to her : 

" Here's five dollars more. The piece has drawn 
first-rate, and the manager has given every one, 
from me to the gas-man, a Christmas present." 

Jane paused before the old gentleman. 

" I 'm much obliged, sir, for the surprise." 

"Child!" said he, with a grand flourish, (he 
used to act tragic parts when he was young), " You 
have my blessing. Be good, and you will rise in 
the profession." 

" So I do, sir, — every night— up to the flies." 

The manager tried to frown, but he smiled, 
instead, and said : 

"We shall have to give you a speaking part 
soon. Go ! " 

Jane stepped out into the theater just as the 
orchestra began a merry strain. Her heart was 
light, for she knew that a "speaking part" meant 
acting with the real people on the stage. She 
tripped down the aisle, a little girl in a big cloak, 
and nobody knew she was their good fairy. She 
passed the narrow door, crossed the wide stage, 
now crowded with knights and fine ladies, dragons 
and mermaids, passed the great curtain, and flew 
down the stairs into her own room. Waving the 
five-dollar bill over her head, she cried : 

" Girls, see what the manager gave me ! " 

Girls ? There were no girls there. Only five 
fairies in white dresses. 

" We all are to have the same," said Kate. 
"Now, hurry, for the orchestra is on." 

In exactly two minutes another fairy was ready, 
and then the whole six, laughing and talking to- 
gether, ran up the stairs to the stage. All the 
people were crowded between the various scenes, 

and the great space in the center was bare. The 
fairies slipped between the people till they came to 
a clear space between the screens at the back or 
top of the stage. Here they found an empty box, 
and, taking care not to tumble their skirts, they 
all sat down and began to talk in a half-whisper. 

Now, to understand what happened to our fair- 
ies, we must notice that the tall canvas screens are 
called wings or side-scenes, the back scene is 
called a flat, and the hanging scenes overhead, 
painted to represent sky, or clouds, or trees, are 
called flies. Above the flies are galleries on each 
side, filled with ropes and machinery. These 
galleries the fairies could see from where they sat, 
though the audience in the theater never see them. 
These galleries are called the fly galleries. High 
above all, seventy feet from the stage, was a loft or 
floor over the stage and full of holes, and through 
these holes hung the ropes that supported the flies, 
and the gas lamps, called the " border lights." 
This loft is called the rigging loft. The fairies sat 
between the two upper wings on the right of the 
stage and under one of the fly galleries. 

Suddenly a bell rang. The orchestra struck up 
louder than before, and the great curtain rolled up. 
The play had begun. The fairies were busy talk- 
ing in whispers and paid no heed to what was going 
on. Our fairy once or twice looked out on the 
stage and observed the actors. The manager had 
promised her a speaking part, and she watched to 
see how the others did, that she might learn from 
them. Of course, her salary would be raised, and 
then, how fast the debt would disappear ! 

In a short time, the first act was over, the 
curtain went down, and, at once, the stage grew 
dark. Instantly, there was the greatest confusion 
everywhere. Men dragged the scenes this way and 
that. The flat parted in the middle and a beauti- 
ful palace came down from above and took the 
place of the castle. Some men brought out painted 
rocks and set them up by means of iron pins 
screwed to the floor. The fairies knew exactly 
what to do, and stood in a row across the stage, 
behind the rocks. Strong iron wires were let down 
from the rigging-loft, and to the end of each the 
men fastened leather straps and white stirrups. 
Jane stood near the middle, and put her feet in the 
stirrups, and while a man buckled the belt round 
her, a boy gave her a wooden wand with a tin star 
at the end. Each of the other fairies was strapped 
to a wire in the same way. Then the orchestra 
began again. The bell rang, the gas lamps 
overhead flared up, and the stage was as light as 
day. The curtain rose, but, as the fairies were be- 
hind the rocks, they could not be seen, nor could 
the fairies see the theater. They stood there, a 
row of plain, simple girls, ready to do their duty as 

i88o. ] 



best they knew, because they were poor. Still 
they were fairies, — "practical fairies" they were 
called in the theater, because they were alive 
and could work. 

The palace behind them was the home of Prince 
Catchoc. Presently, the Prince came on and spoke 
to the Witch Blackcattia. Then he waved his 
wand and cried out: "Come forth, oh fairies ! and 
hie you to your cloudy home." 

" Cloudy home " was the " cue " for the men in 
the fly-galleries, so, as soon as they heard the 
words, they began to turn great cranks. The 
wires tightened, and each fairy felt herself lifted 
into the air as she stood in the stirrups. 

"Steady, girls!" said a man standing in the 
wing. "Wave your wands now, and keep them 
waving till you reach the flies." 

" My belt hurts," said Jane. 

" Can't help it now. You should have spoken 
of it before." 

"I forgot " 

" Hush ! Don't talk. Here you go ! " 

Our fairy rose with the others above the rocks 
and looked out over the stage to the house beyond. 
What a vast throng of people rising tier above tier 
to the roof! How many children there were ! She 
waved her wand slowly and tried to ease her belt, 
and cared no more for the thousands looking at her 
than if they were wooden images. She was help- 
ing father pay that debt. This was her business, 
and that 's all she thought about it. As the fairies 
moved slowly upward, as if flying, a loud shout of 
applause came from the people. They always did 
that every night, and our fairy really hardly heard 
it. It seemed to be a part of the regular thing, 
just like the creaking wheels over her head. Up 
and up and up the fairies went, and the people only 
cheered the more, and our fairy glanced up to the 
flies to see how much farther she must go. Now 
her head reached the level of the edge of the flies, 
and they began to hide the theater as if a curtain 
had been let down before her. The air grew hot 
and stifling, and the flaring gas-lamps shone 
directly in her face. Now they were nearly up, 
and in a moment would disappear from the people. 

Suddenly she felt the wire stop. She had nearly 
passed the flies, but her feet were still below. The 
other fairies lrfoved on past her and were soon over 
her head. Somehow, her wire had caught. 

"Take me up ! Move me up higher ! " cried 
Jane to the man in the fly-galleries. 

" Yes, miss, in a moment." 

"Go on! Go on!" cried the stage-manager 
from below. There was a hush and sudden 
pause, as if no one knew what was the matter. 
She could see the people on the stage looking up 
and the conductor waiting with upraised baton. 

Then some boys in the gallery laughed. She could 
not see the people in the house, but she heard the 
boys laugh. 

The idea of a fairy going up to the sky and stop- 
ping there, with her feet hanging out of the clouds ! 
The audience broke into a loud laugh. They were 
laughing at the fairy. Her face flushed with mor- 
tification and misery, and she burst into tears. 

" Oh, sir, call the manager ! Call the manager, 
and let me down ! " 

There he was, now, tearing up the winding stairs 
to the fly-gallery on her right, where the man was 
working over the machinery. 

" For heaven's sake, man, stop that ! The wire 
may break. Ring the curtain down." 

The tears ran down her cheeks and fell in shin- 
ing drops forty feet through the air to the stage 
below, while all the people laughed in ill-mannered 
merriment. Then she heard the bell, and knew 
that the curtain was going down to hide her misery. 

" Don't cry, Miss Brown," said the manager, 
leaning over the gallery, — for he was only just 
above her. " The people were very rude ; but we 
must n't mind 'em. Send the other girls down, 
Mr. Smith." 

This was the stage manager, who had also come 
up on the fly-gallery. The other girls were above 
Jane, and they now moved down, passed by her, 
and safely reached the stage far below. 

" They were real mean," said Kate as she passed. 
" I hate 'em for laughing." 

" We can't get you down just now, miss," said 
the manager. " You must wait a little while. We 
will pull you up between the flies till after the 
next act. Are you quite comfortable ? " 

" Yes, sir. The belt hurts me, but " Then 

she saw Mr. Smith on the gallery, and she added, 
" I don't mind it much. And, if you please, I 'd 
like a drink of water." 

" Mr. Smith, these girls must never be sent up 
unless they are quite comfortable. Tell the gas- 
man to put a bottle of water on a pole and hand it 
to Miss Brown." 

"Thank you, sir," said Jane; "and, sir, you 
see, I 'm not high enough in the profession yet." 

"Good for you, little one! That 's the right 
kind of talk for a rising fairy." 

She saw a man putting together a jointed fish- 
ing-pole. A boy brought a bottle of water, and 
they lashed it to the pole, and, leaning over the 
edge of the fly-gallery, they pushed out the pole 
till she could reach the bottle. She took it off and 
put it to her mouth and drank, and then the gas- 
man took it away. 

"Go on with the next act," said the manager, 
"and send some men up to the rigging-loft to 
pull the girl up a foot or two." 




The flies before and behind her moved up and 
down. She saw the men below moving the scenes, 
and, presently, the bell rang for the curtain, and the 
play went on. There she hung in mid-air, between 
two sheets of painted canvas, with one of the rows 
of border-lights enclosed in iron cages right in 
front of her. It was terribly hot, and the perspira- 
tion dripped from her chin and ran down her bare 
arms, as she swung slowly backward and forward 
in the hot draft of air that swept through the place. 
The leading lady in the play was on the stage be- 
low, directly under her feet. She listened to every 
word and noted every gesture, and wondered if she 
ever should be a leading lady, and have a good 
salary and a carriage and all that. 

Ah! What is that? A tiny puff of smoke float- 
ing in the air ! She looked about in alarm to see 
where it came from. What if the theater should 
take fire, and she up there among the flies and 
unable to get down? Her eye caught a slender 
stream of smoke curling from the ragged edge of 
the canvas fly in front of her. It had been torn, 
and the piece had been blown or pushed through 
the wire cage that covered the border-lights. The 
cloth was already smouldering in the heat. She 
made a movement of her body, and found she 
could swing herself backward and forward in the 
air. Perhaps, by swinging she could reach the 
smoking cloth and tear it off before it took fire. 
She swung farther and farther each time. The 
smoke was increasing, and she could see the cloth 
curling up in the heat. She was tempted to call 
out for help, but was so terrified she could think of 
nothing save the bit of smouldering cloth. Ah ! 
The next swing would bring her in reach. She 
dropped her wand, and it fell. She stretched out 
both hands and grasped the canvas and held it 
tight, and, as she swung back, a yard or more of 
the rotten stuff tore off and instantly blazed up, 
fanned into flame by the motion through the air. 
She swung back against the fly behind her and 
dropped the cloth, for it had burned her wrist. 
The wand fell straight down, struck the stage, and 
bounded off to the right, and the blazing cloth 
floated down, swirling round and round, like a 
burning meteor out of the sky. She looked along 
the border, as she swung forward again, and saw 
she had torn the burning portion completely off. 
The fire was out. 

The crash of the falling wand startled every- 
body, and when the burning rag fell down in sight 
of the whole audience, the people looked from 
one to another in alarm. The play stopped, and 
there was a terrible hush, as if a panic was about 
to begin. Some person, silly and wicked with 
fear, cried out " Fire ! " and everybody stood up. 

" It' s all out! It's all out!" screamed Jane. 

The child's shrill, clear voice from the flies went 
through the whole vast building, and everybody 
heard it and was still. 

She looked down on the stage, and saw the 
manager, with a white face, wildly looking up 
at her. 

" It 's out, sir. I tore it off. There 's no fire." 

She saw him run to the wall and take down a 
canvas sign on which was marked in big letters, 
"No Fire. Sit Down!" She knew he was 
going to the edge of the stage to hold it up before 
the people. Suddenly, the border lights all went 
out and she was left hanging in darkness, though 
the stage below was still lighted by the foot-lights. 
She supposed it must be for safety this had been 
done, and she was glad of it, for the heat was 

Then she heard the people sit down. The 
panic had been prevented. Then the bell rang, 
and the curtain went down. Suddenly, a man in 
the gallery of the theater cried out : 

" Hurrah for the little girl ! " 

The next moment, the most tremendous roar 
came from behind the curtain. It frightened the 
fairy, for she did not know what it meant. 

" There's no fire ! Tell 'em not to run out," 
she cried, as loud as she could. 

She heard the manager calling the people on 
the stage to their places, and, looking down, she 
called to him. 

" Let me down ! I 've burned my wrist." 

"Be quick, men! Let the girl down. The 
house is calling her." 

The wire started, moved faster and faster, and 
in a moment she stood on the stage. Such a hub- 
bub and uproar ! Everybody wanted to shake her 
hand, and the leading lady ran up to her and 
kissed her. 

" My child, the house is wild for you. I '11 take 
you before the curtain." 

" No. no. Let me change my dress first." 

" Hear the girl ! Come ! I 'II escort you on." 

They were making a fearful din outside the cur- 
tain, and, before she knew it, she was standing in 
front of the curtain, with the manager holding one 
hand, and the leading lady the other. All the peo- 
ple stood up and gave three loud cheers, but she 
only felt that dreadful burning pain in her left 
wrist. Then the manager held up his hand, and 
the house was as still as a mouse. 

" Ladies and gentlemen. Miss Brown, by her 
courage and ready coolness, conquered the devour- 
ing element and heroically " 

" Oh, cut that ! " cried a loud-voiced man in the 
gallery. " Pass the hat for her. It 's Christmas, 
anyway ! " 

With that, he threw a silver half-dollar down on 



the stage, and it struck at her feet and bounced 
into the orchestra. The conductor picked it up 
and gave it to her. And then — and then — Well ! 
There are some things you can never tell straight. 
But, that night, Jacob Brown and his wife and 
daughter spent a whole hour counting bills and 
silver ! The next day, the landlord was paid in 
full, and Jane — no — it was the fairy — opened an 

account at the savings bank with a deposit of two 
hundred and forty dollars and seventeen cents. 

Jane no longer takes fairy parts. With care 
and study she has steadily improved, and though, 
like all actresses, she has very hard work to do, 
she enables her parents to live in comfort. But 
she always wears a wide bracelet on her arm. Some 
say it is to hide a scar that will never come out. 

By Jennie E. T. Dowe. 

Pippety-pop ! Pippety-pop ! 

The redder the fire 
The faster they hop ! 
Now here, now there, 
Now everywhere ; 
Now up, now down, 
Now spinning around, 
Now madly turning to left, to right, 
Now whirling away with wild delight ; 
No mortal dance did vou ever see 

So full of mad ecstatic glee ; 

Bright wee fairies in yellow and brown, 

The steadiest fairies ever were found ; 

Till, pippety-pop ! pippety-pop ! 

Like crazy creatures they skip and hop, 

And change to fancies more wild and bold 

Than ever poem or story told. 

Pippety-pop ! pippety-pop ! 
The redder the fire 




The faster they hop ! 

Silent a moment, 
Then off in a flurry, 
Pippety-pop, and hurry skurry, 
Helter skelter, flying, frisking, 
Swelling, springing, whirling, whisking, 
Skipping and striking, they bound and rebound, 
And with pippety, pippety-pop, resound. 

Pippety-pop ! pippety-pop ! 

The redder the fire 
The faster they hop ! 

Silent a moment, 
Then hopping and popping, 
Jerking and dropping, 
Forever a-dancing 

With hippety-hop ! 
Forever a-dinning 

With pippety-pop ! 

Pippety-pop ! pippety-pop ! 
The redder the fire 

The faster they hop ! 

Silent a moment, 
Then brightly they quiver, 

Turning to whiteness 
With tremor and shiver. 

Now gracefully falling, 
And awkwardly sprawling ; 
Now up they go sounding, 
And down they come bounding ; 
Now up they go grumbling, 
And down they come tumbling ; 
Anon they 're delaying, 
Then weary with staying, 
Together a-jumping, 
They all go a-bumping, 
Now up and now down, 
And around and around, 
Forever a-spinning, 

With hippety-hop ! 
Forever a-dinning, 

With pippety-pop ! 


By Agnes Elizabeth Thomson. 

Long, long ago, when the world was some six 
hundred years younger than it is now, a certain 
little boy was born on the sunny slopes of Vespig- 

I dare say you never so much as heard of Vespig- 
nano before, and that is not to be wondered at, 
because it is only a wee bit of a hamlet, away off 
in the heart of Tuscany, of no importance to any- 
body, except to the few peasants whose uneventful 
lives are spent there. 

Yet, because of this little boy who first opened 
his eyes within its ragged, rugged borders, the lit- 
tle hamlet, no doubt, takes a certain pride in itself, 
and when it has time to think about it at all, thinks 
it may surely hold up its head with the best. 

This little boy's name was Giotto Bondone, — or 
Bondone Giotto, very likely, he was called by his 
comrades, for the Italians have' a queer fashion of 
twisting round their names until one cannot tell 
which is the Christian and which the surname ! 

Giotto was a happy-go-lucky little fellow from 
the very first. His father was but a simple farmer, 
who worked from early morning till long after the 
sun had gone to bed, — worked with a pair of 
patient, white oxen in his master's corn-fields, and 

vineyards, and sheep-pastures, to be paid in the 
harvest-time with just enough corn and wine and 
wool to keep himself, his wife and his boy, happy 
and hearty. 

It was not much that Father Bondone could give 
his little child besides a name, a sheep-skin with 
the wool still on for a coat, and plenty of sunshine 
and pure air. 

But the child had something of his own better 
than any gift. He had a bright and happy nature, 
and an intelligence so remarkable that even when 
he could just walk and talk, it attracted all who 
saw him, and made him his father's pet. 

When he was ten years old, Father Bondone 
thought it time he should begin to be useful, — 
time to be earning at least the salt to his porridge, 
— so he was sent out to watch a few sheep in the 

I think he did more than keep the young lambs 
from straying. 

I think he laid himself down on the ground, and 
forgot all about the sheep, sometimes, while from 
the blue skies, and green valleys, and brilliant 
flowers, and warmly-tinted rocks of old Tuscany, 
he learned how to mix colors on his palette by 




and by, or from the spreading branches of the 
oak-trees he learned the secret of forming graceful 
arches and checkered patterns. 

A wise man once assured the world that there are 
" Sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, 
and good in everything ; " the untaught little Giotto 

It happened, one day, that some trifling matter 
sent a celebrated Florentine artist up to the region 
of Vespignano, and, as he was riding along, having 
lost his way, perhaps, he perceived not far from 
the road-side Father Bondone's quiet flocks com- 
fortably grazing, while their youthful shepherd 


must have been able to find out the " good in 
everything" for himself, and not only were his 
sharp eyes quick to perceive, but his nimble 
fingers were quick to imitate. 

He was always trying to draw some picture on 
any smooth bit of rock or slate that came to hand, 
although he had nothing better for a pencil than 
another bit of stone sharpened down to a point. 

VOL. VII.— 16. 

seemed very much engaged about something near 
by. The great artist was somehow drawn by the 
lad's intent attitude. He rode up to the boy, 
looked over his shoulder, and saw that he had 
been drawing one of the sheep on a piece of stone 
which he held upon his knee. 

Cimabue — that was the name of the artist — was 
greatly astonished when he beheld the picture on 




the stone. He began to talk to this strange shep- 
herd-lad, and, among other things, asked him how 
he would like to leave his hills and sheep-tending, 
his father and mother, and go away with him to 
Florence, and study drawing and art in earnest. 

From the portrait of Master Cimabue that has 
come down to us, one would not think that any 
little boy would be willing to exchange father and 
mother for such a queer, bonneted gentleman ; 
but Giotto loved drawing better than anything else 
on the face of the earth, so he answered joyously 
that he would like very much to go to Florence, 
inwardly thinking himself, I 'm sure, the luckiest 
young shepherd-lad that ever drew breath. 

Father Bondone gave his consent to the scheme 
as gladly as Giotto had given his, and so our hero 
went forth into the world to seek his fortune with 
the stranger from Florence. 

And the teaching went on so wisely and so well, 
day after day, that in a few years the tables were 
turned, and lo ! Master Cimabue had need to go 
to school to pupil Giotto ! Think of that ! 

Yes, Giotto won great fame for himself in a 
short time. He painted picture after picture and 
church after church, in Florence and Pisa, in 
Arezzo and Assisi, in Siena, and a great many 
places besides, doing such good service for art — 
which for two hundred years had been going wrong 
in Italy —that, to this day he is considered a great 
benefactor to the world. He was one of the first 
to give life to modern art, in making his works 
truly reflect Nature. Painting in imitation of 
Nature was a new thing in that day, and everybody 
was surprised and delighted with it. One writer 
of the time says of Giotto's pictures, as if it were a 
thing to be wondered at: "The personages who are 
in grief look melancholy, and those who are joyous 
look gay." 

The fame of Giotto's genius and skill soon pene- 
trated to Rome, the greatest city of the civilized 
world in those times. In all haste, the Pope sent 
off a courier to Florence to see what kind of a 
man this Giotto might be, and pass judgment upon 
his works, reasoning that if all were true that 
people said, it would be well to bring him to the 
Eternal City, to paint the walls of St. Peter's. 

One bright morning, Giotto was busily engaged 
in his workshop, when the Pope's messenger en- 
tered, stated the reason of his visit, and finally 
requested a drawing which he might send to his 

Giotto, who was very courteous, took a sheet 
of paper, and a brush dipped in red color; then, 
with one turn of the hand, he drew a circle so per- 
fect and exact that it was a marvel to behold. 

This done, he turned, smiling to the courtier, say- 
ing: "Here, sir, is the drawing you wished for." 

"Am I to have nothing more than this?" in- 
quired the messenger, surprised. 

" That is enough and to spare," returned Giotto. 
" Send it with the rest, and you will see if it will be 

The messenger, unable to obtain anything more, 
went away very ill-satisfied, and fearing that he 
had been trifled with. 

Nevertheless, having dispatched other drawings 
to the Pope, with the names of those who had made 
them, he sent that of Giotto also, relating the mode 
in which he had made his circle; from which the 
Pope and such of his courtiers as were well versed 
in the subject, conceived the idea that if Giotto 
could surpass all the other painters of his time in 
this way, he could do so in other ways. 

And out of this incident grew a proverb, which 
the Tuscans make use of to the present day. 

" Tu sd piii tondo eke I'O di Giotto." "You 
are rounder than Giotto's O," they say, when they 
mean you are very dull and stupid, because the 
word that means " round" in Italian means also 

Of course, Giotto was summoned to Rome, and 
of course he was glad enough to obev the sum- 


mons, and to win new laurels. And it is a comfort 
to know that his wonderful talents were fully appre- 
ciated by the Pope and the people of Rome. 




Numberless stories are told of Giotto's wit, as 
well as of his marvelous paintings. 

When he was studying under Cimabue, it is said 


that he painted a fly on the nose of one of the fig- 
ures his master was then working at, — a fly so 
like the real thing, that when Master Cimabue 
came in, he tried to brush it away with his hand ! 

If we may believe their biographers, a great 
many artists have painted remarkably life-like 

flies. I saw one of them myself in Antwerp. It 
was resting on the foot of a fallen angel, and was 
as large as a mouse ! I must mention, however, 
that the angel itself was of colossal size. 

But that work which endears our Giotto to the 
hearts of his countrymen, to the hearts of all those 
who love beauty, in fact, is his exquisite bell-tower 
in Florence — Giotto's Campanile. 

Our own poet, Longfellow, has sung its praise, 
and indeed, of itself it seems a poem in stone. 

It is a tall slender shaft of variegated marbles, 
detached from the church, as all bell-towers are in 
Italy, but it is so graceful, so beautiful, so rich in 
detail, and so perfect in proportion, that you can- 
not wonder men gaze on it with astonishment and 

And, exquisite as it seems at first, it grows more 
exquisite as one becomes familiar with it. Every 
portion is worthy of careful examination and study, 
and yet, considered as a whole, it is grand and 

It is many and many a long year since Giotto 
folded his hands to rest forever beneath the shadow 
of the tower which is such a joy to us. He did 
not live to finish this, his last and best work, but 
from his designs his pupils were able to complete 
the building and his fame. And I can wish nothing 
pleasanter for you when you grow up, my little 
friends, than a month in Florence and a sight of 
Giotto's Campanile. 

Bv Josephine Pollard. 

Ino and Uno are two little boys 
Who always are ready to fight, 
Because each will boast 
That he knows the most, 
And the other one cannot be right. 

Ino and Uno went into the woods, 
Quite certain of knowing the way : 

" I am right ! You are wrong ! " 

They said, going along. 
And they did n't get out till next day ! 

Ino and Uno rose up with the lark, 
To angle awhile in the brook, 
But by contrary signs 

They entangled their lines, 
And brought nothing home to the cook ! 

Ino and Uno went out on the lake, 
And oh, they got dreadfully wet ! 

While discussion prevailed 

They carelessly sailed, 
And the boat they were in was upset ! 

Though each is entitled opinions to have, 
They need not be foolishly strong; 

And to quarrel and fight 

Over what we think right, 
Is, You know, and / know, quite wrong ! 




By Louise Stockton. 

The street-car was a long time coming. Much 
longer than usual, Hal Turner thought, as he 
stood at the corner and waited. But at last it came 
in sight, drew nearer and nearer, reached the cor- 
ner, and stopped, and Hal, books in hand, jumped 
in. To his dismay, however, the car was full of 
people, and he had expected it would be quite 
empty. He would not have been so anxious for it 
to come if he had known how things really would 
be. But Hal was no coward. He had something 
to do, he had said he would do it, and he meant to 
be as good as his word, people or no people. So 
he marched up to the front of the car, taking no 
notice of two ladies who moved to make a place for 
him. He stood for a moment looking at the 
horses, and then, with a coming of color into his 
face, turned and walked back to the other end. 
One of the ladies smiled, and half motioned with 
her hand to the seat. 

'• No, I thank you," said Hal, and, turning, he 
walked back to the front again and then once more 
to the rear. 

"Why don't you sit down, young man ?" said 
an old gentleman, who had drawn his foot up every 
time Hal had passed him. 

" Oh, I don't care to ; I am very comfortable," 
answered Hal. 

At this, the old gentleman smiled. 

" Well, I am not," he said, " for I have had the 
rheumatism in my foot, and I expect you will tum- 
ble over it." 

" I will be very careful," Hal replied, still on the 
march, but pressing close to the opposite side of 
the car. 

Just then, the conductor came in and collected 
his fare. 

" There is a seat," said he to Hal, pointing to 
the vacant place by the ladies ; but the boy made 
no reply, and, as soon as the conductor returned to 
the platform, he began his walk again. 

"See here, my boy," said a gentleman in the 
corner, looking up from his newspaper, "how far 
are you going? " 

" Above Girard Avenue," answered Hal. 

" And are you going to keep this up all the 
way ? " 

" I should like to," Hal replied, but feeling very 
certain that he really did not like to find himself 
such a conspicuous personage. 

" Do you always rage up and down in this 

" No, sir," said Hal; " I generally sit down." 

" Why don't you take that seat ? " 

" Because," said Hal, as boldly as he could, 
"because I told my sister I would walk home." 

" H'm ! " said the gentleman, "and why don't 
you ? — on the street, where walking is in order? " 

" Because my mother won't let me. She thinks 
it is too far from school to our house, and she says 
that I must ride." 

At this, everybody in the car laughed, and Hal 
felt his face grow scarlet. He turned from his 
questioner and walked down the car, resolving that, 
as soon as he got home/Tie would tell Nan she 
was a goose. 

But his troubles were not yet over, for the con- 
ductor said sharply : 

" See here, sir ! there is a seat. If you want it, 
take it ; if you don't, stand still or get out ! " 

Hal glanced into the car, where he met two rows 
of laughing eyes, and, without a word or a mo- 
ment's hesitation, jumped off the car. 

He had not meant to give up, but he could not 
stand it. He ran up the street a little way ; but, 
when the car had passed him and was out of sight, 
he slackened his speed and walked. He was not 
in a very good humor. " I might have known 
just how it would be," he said to himself, "but 
when Nan persisted that I could n't walk home, 
and at the same time mind mamma, who says I 
must always ride, I never thought of a car full of 
people ! I do think Nan is the most obstinate girl 
in the whole world ! Now, here I am, everybody 
laughs at me, and I have to break my word to 
mamma, after all, for I can't get into another car 
and ride ; I 've no more money. Bother it all ! " 
and with this he kicked a little stone out of his 
way and felt better. He had quite a long walk 
before him ; but he was not sorry for that, as he 
felt he needed a little time for thinking the matter 
over before he met his mother's reproof and Nan's 
laughter. It was all very well to blame Nan now, 
but he knew in his heart who it was who was 
obstinate, and who planned the whole affair, and 
that person was not Nan ! So he trudged on, both 
hands in his pockets, and his books slung by the 
strap over his shoulder, trying to look as if this 
walking was a matter of course, and he did it every 

After a while, he came to the Ridge Road. This 
street, as all Philadelphia boys and girls know, 
runs across the city from south-east to north-west, 



and cuts the corners of the other streets which go stores present very attractive windows, and on 

from north to south and from east to west. It the Ridge Road almost every house has a store on 

begins at Ninth and Vine streets, and runs on the first floor. Some of them seemed so full that 

through the city, — making it easy for people to the contents, Hal thought, had spilled out on to 

lose their way by the cross-roads it creates, — up by the pavements, which were crowded with all sorts 

"why dq,n't you sit down?" , -: - v 

the Park, and on past factories, and mills, 
until it gets into the country, and then on and 
on through farms, past iron mines, villages, 
woods, and furnaces, until it finds itself among 
the hills, miles and miles away from the noisy cor- 
ner where it started. 

When Hal reached this point, he stopped to 
consider. He was now on Eleventh street, but 
if he took the Ridge Road he could make a short 
cut up to Fifteenth street and so home. It was a 
more lively street than Eleventh, and that was 
another reason for using it. The Philadelphia 

of merchandise, and as Hal glanced in at the doors, 
he wondered where all these things could be put, 
if they were taken in at night. 

But he did not long consider this question, for 
he spied a carpenter's shop, and that reminded 
him of some inquiries he wished to make. The 
door of the shop was open, and when he had 
gone up the two little steps, he could hear some 




one hammering. He looked in ; there was the 
bench and there were the tools, but he could not see 
the workman. Then he went in, and over in the 
corner, where she could not be seen from the door, 
was a little girl, standing at a little bench, ham- 
mering lath nails into a piece of wood with a little 
hammer. She had on a large apron, tied around 
her waist, and her brown hair hung around her 
neck. She looked up and saw Hal, and laying 
down the piece of wood, but keeping the 
hammer in her hand, she waited for him 
to speak. 

".Where is the carpenter? " he asked. 

" I am the carpenter," she gravely re- 

At this, Hal laughed. 

" Is this your shop?'' he said. "Do you 
make dog-houses ? " 

" I never have made a dog-house," re- 
plied the carpenter. " I never thought of 
it. Of course, my papa could. I can make 
tables and chairs ; I am making a table 

And she drove a nail in so promptly and 
firmly, that Hal came up in admiration to 
look at her. 

" Why, you are a real good carpenter ! " 
he exclaimed ; " our Nan could n't do that, 
and she is older than you are. I sometimes 
miss the head of a nail myself." 

" I never do," replied the girl, " my papa 
would be ashamed of me if I did." 

" Does he go away and leave you here ? 
Do you really mean to be a carpenter ? " 

"I suppose so," she answered. "Papa 
said he always thought one of his boys would 
take the business, and he has n't any, and 
no girls either, except me." 

"I never heard of a woman carpenter," 
said Hal, " and I don't believe there ever 
was such a thing." 

" May be not," she answered coolly, tak- 
ing a nail out of her mouth and driving it 
into the leg of her table, " but there will 
be one after I grow up. But do you want a dog- 
house ? My papa will be home after five o'clock." 

" I can't wait that long. Can't you really make 

"I never did," repeated the carpenter, "but 
there is the slate. You 'd better write what you 
want on it, and when papa comes home he can tell 
me how to make a dog-house. I should like to 
make one." 

The slate hung by the door. Hal took it down 
and sat on a broken chair to write. He thought, 
as he did so, that if he was a carpenter he would 
mend all the broken chairs in his shop. 

" I don't know what to write," he said. 

"Say you want a dog-house," the carpenter 
promptly replied. 

So Hal wrote : " / want a dog House." 

" Is that enough?" he asked. 

"Of course not," the carpenter said; "people 
always say how big they want things." 

" I don't know how big it ought to be," and Hal 
looked doubtfully at her. 


"Two feet by twenty," and she held up her 
table, which now had three legs, and, with her 
head on one side, she looked at it critically. 

" Do you mean twenty feet high and two feet 
broad ? " 

" I suppose so." 

" Nonsense," said Hal, after thinking a moment. 
" You don't know how high twenty feet would 

" The other way would do just as well, then," 
said the carpenter. "Two feet high and twenty 

"Why, this room is n't twenty feet long, I am 



sure," said Hal. " 1 don't think you can know the 
sizes of things very well." 

" I told you I never made a dog-house," re- 
turned the girl ; " and if you can't wait until papa 
comes, I don't know what you will do." 

Hal held the slate in his hand and reflected. 

Then the carpenter made a suggestion. She 
said : 

"You might measure your dog, and then the 
house would be sure to fit." 

" So I might," said Hal. " Perhaps that would 
be the best way. I should n't like to have a house 
made, and then find the dog could n't get into it." 

" Is he a very large dog? " asked the girl. 

" I don't know," replied Hal. " I have n't got 
him yet." 

At this, the girl laughed. 

" Of course, I expect to have him," said Hal, a 
little warmly, "and he will be big, I suppose. 1 
thought I had better get the house made first, and 
then it would be all ready." 

" But you could n't know what size it ought to 
be," the carpenter remarked. 

"There must be a usual size," said Hal, "and 
your father would know what that is." 

" Of course he would," replied the carpenter, 
confidently. "Suppose you stop here to-morrow." 

" Oh, I can't do that. To-morrow I must ride 
home from school. But I '11 come on Saturday." 

And so it was settled. Hal hung the slate up 
again, but he left his message on it, and then he 
bid the girl good-bye, and started for home. 

Hal never knew how it happened, but the shop 
must have stood at the corner of some of the 
streets that come together, three at a time, on the 
Ridge Road, for, instead of going on the same 
street toward Fifteenth, he soon found that he was 
walking past private houses, and that the stores, 
the wagons, and the liveliness of the Ridge Road" 
were gone. The next surprise he had was to see the 
name of " Le Conte & Haffelfinger" on a grocery 
store. There certainly were not two firms of this 
name, and yet one was very near his grandfather's 
house. Then he looked into the grocery store, and 
sure enough, there was a man with a red beard 

weighing coffee, and he looked enough like Mr. 
Haffelfinger to be his twin brother. So then Hal 
went around the corner, and there, really and 
truly, was his grandfather's house ! He was cer- 
tainly not near his home, but when a boy chooses, 
or happens, to get lost, there are worse places than 
the neighborhood of his grandfather's house, and 
when he goes in tired and warm, a grandmother 
who gets out the cake-box and a milk pitcher is 
not a bad person to meet with. 

Hal told his story as he ate. He did not expect 
his grandfather to scold him much, for the old gen- 
tleman had no such unpleasant habits, but he 
really thought that if a boy could n't walk home 
and ride also, at the same moment, without every- 
body laughing at him, the boy was ill-used. But 
he felt better when his grandfather had old "Lar- 
go " harnessed up, and drove Hal home. His 
arrival in this good company may have had some- 
thing to do with the facts that the boy was not 
scolded much, and that the next Saturday he and 
Nan were allowed to go to the carpenter's and fin- 
ish the arrangements for the dog-house. One 
reason — Hal felt sure of this — was because his 
grandfather offered to pay for it. 

The strangest thing of all, however, was that 
Hal never could find that carpenter's shop again. 
He thought he knew just where it was, but neither 
he nor Nan could find it. After this, he often 
walked along the Ridge Road. The stores and the 
goods on the pavements were all there, but the 
carpenter's shop and the carpenter's girl had dis- 
appeared. He used to talk it over with Nan, his 
father, and the school-boys; and although some 
of the boys went to look for it, sure that they could 
find it, they never did, though Hal described it 
often, and never omitted the girl, the two little 
steps, one broken chair, and the slate with " / 
want a dog House" written on it. The carpenter 
had probably moved away, or else the shop was not 
on the street where Hal thought it was. Nan and 
the boys always said he ought to have put his own 
name and address on the slate, and then one of 
the carpenters might have sent him word ; but it 
is very easy for some one else to say what you 
ought to have done, if you only did n't do it. 





"the relay in the desert." 
(By permission of Messrs. Goupil <5^ Co. ) 

THIS picture of a scene in the great desert of 
Africa is taken from a picture by the French artist, 
Gerome, who is celebrated for his wonderful paint- 
ings of Eastern scenes, as well as for his pictures of 
life in Pompeii, in the old days when that was a 
great city, and its people were noted for their love 
of luxury and art. Of course, as Gerome is an 
artist of the present day, he can only get his ideas 
of Pompeiian life and scenery from careful study of 
the pictures and sculptures which have been dis- 
covered in the ruins of that city ; but he has studied 
so well, and with such a love for the art of by-gone 
days, that he has painted pictures which are prob- 
ably better representations of the people and 
houses and streets of Pompeii than any of the artists 
of that city ever painted themselves. He has done 
so much of this peculiar kind of painting, that he is 
considered a leader in what is called the Pompeiian, 
or New Greek school of art. 

Gerome has also painted pictures of life in an- 
cient Greece and Rome. Some of you may have 
seen engravings of these, representing fights be- 
tween gladiators, races, and other such scenes. 

It is, however, in his pictures of Eastern scenery 
and people, such as the one from which our en- 
graving was taken, that we think Gerome must 
be at his best, for he has lived under the burning 
sun of Africa, and among the Moors and the 
Arabs, and has drawn and painted his pictures of 
the East from what he saw with his own eyes. Few 
artists have been able to show as well as he has 
shown, the strange effect of the glaring sunlight of 
those regions, and the desolate and solemn appear- 
ance of the wide-spreading and lonely desert 

The picture above given shows one of the pe- 
culiar methods of hunting in the desert. The 
dogs you see are Syrian greyhounds, which are 
used in Africa in hunting the gazelle. In some of 
these hunts, the game runs for such a long distance 
that the dogs become tired, and, as the gazelles 
generally take a particular course, according to the 
wind perhaps, the hunters station "relays" of dogs 
somewhere on that part of the desert which they 
expect to pass, so that the fresh hounds can take 
up the chase when the others begin to flag ; just as 




relays of horses used to be placed on the old stage- 
routes, in order that the great coaches could always 
roll along at high speed, with fresh horses every 
ten miles or so. 

This "relay" business is all very well for the 
hunters and the dogs, but it seems pretty hard on 
the gazelles, who have to run just as fast as they 
can until the hunt is over, without any chance of 
getting rested, or of having any fresh gazelles to 
take their places. 

The dogs in the picture are strong and vigorous 
fellows, and they are listening and watching, as 
well as the man who is holding them, for some 
sign of the approaching hunters. We pity the 
poor gazelles when they come sweeping around 
that sandy hill, and these swift hounds are let 
loose to dash after them. 

The beautifully engraved picture on the oppo- 
site page was not copied directly from Gerome's, 
but from an etching made from the painting. 


A Fable. 

By Paul Fort. 

There were once two young bears, who were 
very kind to each other. They were brother and 
sister. The brother was named Sigismund, and 
the sister was Brunetta. They used often to go 
out and take walks. It was good for their health to 
go about in the open air, and they frequently found 
something nice to eat, which they would always 
divide as nearly equally as possible. One day, as 
they were wandering through the country, they 
saw a plum-tree, loaded with fruit. 

" Ho, ho ! " cried Sigismund. " Here is some- 
thing! Look at those plums! Let us bounce up 
this tree. I never saw such plums." 

" No, no ! " cried Brunetta ; " don't try to climb 
that tree. The branches are too slender, and 
would break under the weight of either of us. Let 
us get the plums some other way." 

"You are too timid," said Sigismund. "We 
have often climbed trees that were smaller and 
weaker than that. " 

"That is true," said Brunetta, " but we were 
younger and lighter, then. You forget that we are 
growing every day." 

" That may be," replied her brother, who could 
not help feeling that she was right ; " but we must 
have the plums." 

"Very true," said Brunetta. "Let us think of 
some good way. We might throw stones and sticks 
at them. I have seen people doing that." 

" So have I," said Sigismund. " But it is a poor 
way. You get very few plums by throwing at them. 
And, besides, girls can't throw." 

Brunetta did not much like this remark ; but she 
said nothing, for she knew she could not throw so 
as to hit anything. 

" I '11 tell you," cried Sigismund, " I have a good 
plan ! One of us will climb up the tree a little way, 

and bend down a branch and then the other one can 
pick off the plums. When the one on the ground 
has eaten enough plums, she can climb the tree, 
and bend down a branch and let the other one 

" Then you intend to climb the tree first," said 

" Certainly I do," replied her brother, and up he 

The lower branch of the plum-tree was a slender 
one, as Brunetta had said, and Sigismund found 
it easy to bend. It came down so low, as the 
young bear threw his weight upon it, that his sister, 
by standing on her hind legs, could easily reach and 
pick the delicious fruit, which was so ripe that much 
of it dropped to the ground as the branch was bent. 

It was a pretty picture to see this affectionate 
young couple thus enjoying themselves. Brunetta 
was in ecstasies of delight. She had never tasted 
such plums, and she crammed them into her mouth 
as fast as she could pick them from the branches. 

As for Sigismund, he clung with his fore paws to 
the branch, while with one of his hind legs planted 
against the trunk, he waved the other pleasantly in 
the air, and looked around at his sister with a jovial 

"Eat on," he cried, "eat just as many as you 
want. I can hang on here ever so long. The 
branch does seem to be cracking a little, but that 
does not matter. If it breaks off, we '11 get the 
plums all the easier. It wont hurt me to drop. 
Is n't this a good plan? And don't they taste 
sweet and juicy? " 

" Indeed they do," said Brunetta. 

She would have said more than this in praise of 
the plums, but she could not stop eating long 
enough. She was in a hurry to get through, so 




that she could pull down the branch and let her 
brother eat. 

But just as she began to feel that she would soon 
be nearly satisfied, Sigismund gave a cry, and the 
smile fled from his face. 

" Look there ! " he cried; and he pointed to a 
field, not far off. 

Brunetta raised herself up, as high as she could, 
and looked. And there she saw a man and two 
dogs running toward them ! The man had a 
great club and the two 
dogs looked very fierce. 

There was no time 
to be lost. Sigismund 
dropped from the tree, 
and he and his sister 
scampered off as fast 
as they could go. They 
soon reached the for- 
est ; but they got there 
none too soon, for the 
dogs were close behind 
them. The man did 
not care to venture in 
among the thick shad- 
ows of the woods, 
where there might be 
large bears, and so he 
called off his dogs and 
went back to see what 
damage had been done 
to his plum-tree. 

As for Brunetta and 
her brother, they did 
not stop running until 
they reached the cave 
of their parents, where 
they felt perfectly safe. 

As soon as they re- 
covered their breath, 
they told their story. 

" I think you went 
too far away from 
home," said their father ; " considering that it was 
in the day-time when you could be seen from quite 
a distance. If there had been several men and more 
dogs, they might have followed you into the woods 
and killed you." 

" That is true," said Brunetta ; " but the plums 
were perfectly delicious, and Sigismund was so kind. 
He held the branches down for me, for ever and 

ever so long, so that I could get the plums quite 
easily. We had a glorious time." 

" Yes," said Sigismund ; " it was very pleasant, 
and I am glad you liked the fruit. But I did all 
the work, and did not get a plum. This does not 
seem quite right. And I am dreadfully hungry." 

" But it is not my fault," said Brunetta. "If 
the man and the dogs had not come, you would 
have had some plums." 

"I know that," said Sigismund; "but I did not 
get any, and there is 
something very wrong 
about it, somewhere." 
" My son," said his 
father, "did it not give 
you pleasure to see 
your sister enjoying 
those plums ? Was 
not your heart filled 
with generous emo- 
tions as you held down 
the branches for her? " 
"Oh yes ! " said Sig- 

" And did you not 
feel," continued his 
father, "that you were 
doing a very good ac- 
tion in climbing the 
tree first, and allowing 
Brunetta to eat all the 
fruit she wanted, before 
you had any ? " 

"Yes, I did," said 

" And did you not 
have an idea that she 
would not have been so 
ready to do all this for 
you, and that you 
were, in fact, a little 
kinder and a little 
more generous than 
your sister, and did not this idea make you feel 
well satisfied with yourself and happy ? " 
Sigismund was obliged to admit that it did. 
" Then," said his father, " you ought to be con- 
tent to go without plums. You can't have every- 

Sigismund and Brunetta sat still for a long time, 
and thought and thought and thought. 

* don't they taste sweet and juicy ? " 





By John Lewees. 

In winter-time, when a great part of a boy's fun 
must be found in-doors, it is a good thing to know 
how to get up amateur exhibitions of various kinds. 
In this way, boys, and girls, too, in many cases, 
can have a good time while preparing the shows, 
and may also afford a great deal of pleasure to 
their companions and friends, who make up the 

One of the most entertaining parlor exhibitions 
which can be given at a moderate expense by a 
party of bright boys, accustomed to the use of 
carpenters' tools, is " The Boys' Own Phono- 
graph " invented by Mr. D. C. Beard, who has 
made the drawings which accompany this article. 

The first thing necessary in the construction of 
this very peculiar machine is a dry-goods box, 
large enough for a boy to sit inside of it, without 
discomfort. The top must be firmly nailed on, 
and the two sides taken off, thus leaving nothing 
but the top, bottom and two ends of the box. 
The sides, each of which probably consists of two 
or three pieces of board, are to serve as doors, 
and therefore must be firmly fastened together by 
means of cleats or narrow strips of board nailed 
across them. One side of the box, which we shall 
call side A, must be very strong, and will probably 
require three cleats. The other side, B, which is 
in front when the apparatus is in use, must now be 
fastened to the box by a pair of hinges, strong 
enough to sustain its weight. There should be a 
hook on it, to keep it shut, when necessary. 

A shelf, wide enough for a small-sized boy, with 
a strong voice, to sit upon, must be attached to 
side A, and should be supported by iron braces. 
Strong leather straps will do, if a blacksmith is not 
handy ; but they must be very firmly fastened to 
the shelf and to the back door of the box, as we 
shall now call side A. As the small boy with a 
strong voice is to sit on this shelf, it would ruin the 
exhibition if the shelf were to break down, not to 
speak of the damage which might be done to the 
boy. Then, this back door must be fastened to the 
box by heavy gate or barn-door hinges. 

Two strong wooden bars or handles must now 
be secured to the bottom of the box, and should 
project far enough at the ends of the box, to allow 
a boy to stand between them, at each end, when the 
box is to be lifted or carried. 

The rest of the necessary work is very easy. 
A crank, or turning handle (which will turn noth- 

ing), is to be fastened to one end of the box; and 
two holes — about two inches in diameter — are to 
be made, one in the front door, and one in the top 
of the box. In each of these, a tin or pasteboard 
horn is to be fastened — the one on top to be smaller 
than the other. 

Then, on the inside of the box, a round stick — 
a broom-stick will answer — is to be placed on two 
notched blocks fastened to the ends of the box, so 
that it can easily be taken out of its place by the 
small boy, and put back again, when occasion 
requires. A tomato-can is to be stuck on the 
broom-handle, so that it will look like a tin cylinder 
containing something or other of importance. This 
round stick, with its cylinder, is only for show ; but 
it must not be omitted. 

Nothing more is now necessary but a pair of 
wooden trestles, or horses, such as carpenters use, 
on which the box is to stand during the exhibition. 

Having explained how to make this novel phono- 
graph, I have only to tell you how it is to be used. 
It is evident, from what I have said, that there is 
to be a small boy in that box ; and the fact is that 
he is the most important part of the whole machine ; 
for this is only a piece of fun, intended to excite 
curiosity and amusement in the audience, who may, 
perhaps, imagine that there is a small boy some- 
where about the apparatus, but who cannot see 
where he is. 

The phonograph, which should stand in a room 
opening into that in which the audience is to assem- 
ble, or it may be behind a curtain, must be arranged 
in working order some minutes before the time 
fixed for the exhibition to commence. 

The way to arrange it is as follows : The back 
door of the box must be opened, and the small boy 
seated on the shelf. The door is then closed, the 
boy going into the box as it shuts. The front door 
is also shut. If the broom-handle and tomato-can 
are in the boy's way, he can take them down and 
put them on one side. 

The professor — who is to exhibit the workings of 
the machine, and who should be a boy able to 
•speak fluently and freely before an audience — must 
now come out and announce that the exhibition is 
about to begin. He should see that the wooden 
horses are so placed that the box will rest properly 
upon them, and should make all the little prepara- 
tions which may be necessary. Then, after a few 
words of introduction, he may call for his phono- 




graph, and the box will be borne in by two boys, as him from the audience, as it stands open. As 

you see in the first picture. soon as the Professor announces that he is about 

After the bearers have walked around the stage, to open the box, the small boy must put the 


so that both sides of the box may be seen by the 
audience, it is to be placed on its trestles, or stands, 
with the front door toward the company. 

The Professor will now call attention to the fact 
that the persons present have seen each side of the 
box, and can see under and all around it, thus 
assuring themselves that it has no connection 
with anything outside of it, except the stands on 

broom-stick in its place, if he has taken it down. 
Then the Professor throws open the front door and 
shows that there is nothing in the box but the rod 
and cylinder which seem to be attached to the 
crank. What machinery may be concealed in that 
little tin cylinder, he does not feel called upon to 

After a few minutes for a general observation of 


which it rests. He will then proceed to open it, the inside of the box, he closes it, being very care- 
taking care to open the back door first. The small ful to shut the front door first. Then the small 
boy then swings back with the door, which conceals boy takes down the broom-stick, puts it out of his 




way, and proceeds to make himself comfortable 
and ready for business. 

The Professor now begins to exhibit the phono- 
graph, by speaking into the horn at the top of the 
box. He generally commences with a short sen- 
tence, pronouncing each word loudly and clearly, 
so that every one can hear them. He gives the 
crank a few turns, and calls upon the audience to 
be very quiet and listen, and then, in a very few 
moments, the same words that he used are re- 
peated from the horn in the front of the box, the 
small boy within imitating, as nearly as possible, 
the voice and tone of the Professor 

The exhibition may go on as long as the au- 
dience continues to be interested and amused. 

tempted. The box-doors should work perfectly, 
the small boy should be able to sit on his shelf in 
such a way that his head will never stick up when 
the back door is open, and he should practice put- 
ting up the broom-stick when the Professor an- 
nounces that the box is to be opened. By the way, 
if the box is opened several times during the per- 
formance to oil the rod, or to do some little thing 
to the cylinder, it will help to excite the curiosity 
of some of the audience, but the Professor must 
not forget that the front door must never be open 
when the back door is shut. The boys who carry 
the box should also carefully practice their busi- 
ness, so as to set the box down properly on its sup- 
ports, and to see that it is firmly placed. It may 


All sorts of things may be spoken into the box, 
which, after a few turns of the crank, will be re- 
peated from the mouth-piece or horn in the front 
door. Various sounds may be reproduced by 
means of this machine, and an ingenious Professor 
and a smart small boy can make a deal of fun. 

A startling final effect may be produced, if, 
after the Professor has crowed into the upper horn, 
the boy inside can manage, unperceived, — say by 
means of a small sliding panel, — to throw out a 
live, strong-voiced rooster, especially if the rooster 
can be persuaded to crow as he comes forth ; still 
if the rooster does n't crow, the boy may. 

But it must not be supposed that an exhibition 
of this kind will be successful without a good deal 
of careful preparation and several rehearsals. Every 
one should be perfectly familiar with his duty 
before a performance in front of an audience is at- 

be necessary for one or both of them to sit on the 
front handles when the back door, with the boy on 
it, is swung back, so as to balance his weight and 
prevent an upset. But experiment will show 
whether this is necessary or not. 

As to the business of the Professor and the small 
boy, that, of course, must be carefully studied. It 
will not do to rely on inspiration for the funny 
things which must be said by the Professor, and 
imitated by the boy in the box. The Professor 
may bark like a dog, crow like a cock, or make 
any curious sound he pleases, provided he knows, 
from practice at rehearsal, that the small boy can 
imitate him. 

The cost of the box, hinges, braces, etc., will 
probably be between two and three dollars, and if 
the box is painted, or covered with cheap muslin, 
it will look much more mysterious and scientific. 

2 3 8 



There was a young lady of Brooking, 
Who had a great fondness for cooking ; 

She made sixty pies 

That were all of a size, 
And could tell which was which without looking. 


By Mary Hallock Foote. 

From the waters of the Arkansas, a little stream, 
like a miniature canal, with a narrow path along 
its bank, winds through the pine woods, past the 
lonely prospectors' cabins, the charcoal pits and 
camps of the wood-choppers, out into the noise and 
dust and glare of a great mining camp in the gulch 

The miners call this little stream a "ditch," as 
they call the noble valley a "gulch"; but swift, 
bright, clear water, pure as the snows which gave 
it birth, cannot be fouled by an ugly name. It is 
like a ray of sunlight through the somber pine 
wood ; swiftly it glances past the blackened wastes 
where the forest fires have left their foot-prints, as 
if glad to leave such desolation behind it. In the 
shades of the deep woods it steals along, and seems 
to still its ripples as if to listen to the grand music 
of the pine-trees' breath. 

It gives a friendly sparkle as it passes the outly- 
ing cabins, where children gather at its brink. 

" With the current, my little man," it whispers, 
with its merry ripple, to a lad who stoops to fill his 
water-pail. " With the current, if you would not 
lose your pail and your balance, and perhaps your 
temper, too." 

" Carefully, carefully ! over those loose, rough 
logs," it murmurs, as it slides under a bridge, and 
glances upward at a pretty young mother who 
trips across with her baby in her arms. " My bed 
is smooth enough for me, but it might be too rough 
for the wee girlie in your arms ! And so her papa 
is living alone on the mountain, digging a hole 
with nothing but disappointment at the bottom. 
If it is gold he must have, I could tell him — but, 
would it make you any happier, little mother?" 

The stream, you see, was both merry and wise. 




It could prattle, and it could keep its own counsel, 

But its play days ended, as all our play days end, 
sooner or later, in the work that is waiting for us. 
Sometimes, it is work we would never choose for 
ourselves. I can hardly believe the little stream 
very much enjoyed the work which awaited it down 
in California gulch, where the hungry gold-seekers 
forced it to help them sift the precious grains from 
those of common earth. 

It did not enjoy it, still it did it without grum- 
bling, knowing that other work, and better, would 
come to it soon enough. How it may have laughed 
to itself, thinking of the treasures of the mountains 
whose secrets were its own by birthright, — secrets 
these anxious gold hunters would give, if not their 
own lives, the lives of a good many other people, 
perhaps, to know ! For our little stream, although 
the miners called it a " ditch," — though it was no 
respecter of persons, and gave water to a worn-out 
stage-horse turned out to die, quite as readily as to 
the capitalist who had just put his millions in a 
mine ; though it lent itself to very common uses, — 
even washing the clothes of the camp and the 
faces of dirty children, — was of royal birth ! Its 
mother, the Arkansas, was a daughter of the great 
snow-covered range, whose calm, white brows are 
lifted, overlooking the continent, and telling the 
rivers which way to run. 

Is it likely they do not know all about the gold 
and silver locked in the treasure-chambers of the 
mountains? Our little stream may have heard the 
secret whispered over the tops of the pine-trees, 
when the great winds wandered from peak to peak 
at twilight, and the cloudy curtains sank over the 
heads of the giant dreamers. But now I must tell 
you what the stream helped two little children to 
do. Their . own good hearts told them to do it, 
but when the good thought came, the little stream 
was ready to^ielp them turn it into deeds. 

These children, like the stream, had known a 
good deal of play and a little of work in their lives, 
but they were not of royal birth. I do not believe 
there are any disguised or stolen princes or prin- 
cesses in the woods about that mining camp in the 
gulch ; but Nanny Peerie's eyes could not have 
been bluer, nor her dark locks more curly, nor her 
cheeks redder under the sun-tan, if she had been 
the daughter of a hundred earls, instead of the child 
of one not very prosperous teamster called Ben 
Peerie. Nanny's brother, Alec, was sandy-haired 
and freckled, with light hazel eyes, and a broad, 
merry smile. 

They were both stout and tall for ten and twelve 
years, and this was fortunate, just because life was 
not all play-time to them. Ben Peerie, the team- 
ster, had laid down his "jack-rein " and " snake- 

whip," and taken up the miner's picic and shovel. 
He had built a rude hut on the edge of the timber 
line, where the sparse and stunted firs show how 
hunger and cold can cripple the life of a tree, as 
well as of a man. Here he spent his time and 
strength sinking a "prospect hole," where he 
daily expected to uncover a fortune. 

Sometimes, he felt tired and discouraged, and 
two or three days would pass while he lay around 
his cabin and smoked, and the hole grew no 
deeper. Sometimes, he tried to " sell out," and 
hoped for better luck in another spot ; but no 
one seemed anxious to buy his prospect. So he 
continued to dig, and smoke, and dream of fut- 
ure wealth. Meantime, Jane, his wife, — a slender 
woman with Alec's hazel eyes and smile (both less 
bright than they had been a few years before), 
took in washing, by which she supported herself 
and the children, and supplied Ben with the food, 
tobacco, and clean clothes on which his hopes 
were fed. 

The children " packed " water for their mother, 
and carried the bundles of clothes to and fro 
through the town, besides being generally helpful, 
and cheery to look at. When they were not to be 
seen, the mother was seldom troubled about them. 
The pine woods were near, and they spent many 
happy hours there. They had their own "pros- 
pect holes," and their own visions of hidden treas- 
ure awaiting the lucky touch ; but they faithfully 
performed all the humdrum tasks at home, before 
entering the dream-world of the forest. 

Now, for days of the dry and windy summer, 
the forest-fires had been roaming around the hills, 
showing like a cloud by day, and a pillar of fire 
by night. They were watched by the town in the 
gulch, by the mines on the hills, by the outlying 
cabins and camps, and as the wind veered to the 
south, or west, or north, anxiety sharpened the 
watch. Now it was the timber men in Frying-pan 
gulch who were threatened, or the charcoal-burn- 
ers in the Arkansas valley ; now the little camp of 
Oro in the hills, or the big camp in the gulch, or 
cabins west of it, which stood against a redder sun- 
set than had lit the pine woods for many a year. 

Men were sent out to "back-fire"; and along 
the course of the stream, as it entered the forest, 
a picket guard of fires sent up their red light by 
night and their smoke cloud by day. All the well- 
known camps and cabins were watched and 
guarded, but there were many wandering sheep 
from that great fold in the gulch. Many solitary 
cabins lent their glow to the night fires that lit the 
silent stream on its way, and no one but the stream, 
perhaps, could have told of the grim watch kept 
by some shelterless outcast over the ashes of his 
"last chance." 




Nanny and Alec had their own " claim," as they 
called it, about half a mile distant in the woods. 
It was a patch of young pines, growing thickly to- 
gether, where, twenty years before, the larger trees 
had been cut. Here and there a fallen log served for 
a seat, where they often sat and listened to the wind 
surging up from the valley, like the surf on a dis- 
tant shore. They called the young pines their 
Christmas trees, and amused themselves for hours, 
gathering such treasures as the woods afforded, 
and hanging them on the branches of their pet 
trees, with bits of string, treasured in Alec's pocket 
for that purpose. 

Every day, when work was done, they hurried 
into the forest to see if their " claim " was still safe 
from the fires. 

One morning, a miner, driving his donkey 
loaded with " grub " along the ditch, saw two 
children sitting on a fallen and blackened log, 
gazing at the burnt waste around them. He won- 
dered what they were doing so far in the woods 
alone, and, seeing their faces were troubled, asked 
if they had lost their way. 

"No, sir," the girl replied. " But this was our 
' claim,' and the fires have burnt it all up ! " 

He smiled to himself as he passed on, for he had 
children of his own in a little prairie town of 

" Never mind," said Alec, " I know where there 
are lots more Christmas trees just as nice as these. 
We can locate somewhere else." 

" I sha' n't ever like any other place so well as 
this one," Nanny replied, kicking to pieces with 
her foot the charred likeness of a slender pine twig. 
"There will be people there, asking questions — 
or something ! Alec, did you ever see that cabin 
before ? " 

It stood just across the log road, which separated 
it from the burnt waste, with the heavy woods be- 
hind it. 

" I knew 't was there, but there did n't seem to 
be anybody livin' in it. You could n't see it 'less 
you was close to it." 

" I wonder if it 's empty ! We might live in it 
ourselves, if it is ! " cried Nanny, springing up with 
a brightening face. 

" Here 's his prospect-hole — guess he did n't 
find anything, and quit." 

"Who?" said Nanny. 

"Why, the feller that built the cabin. This 
was his hole, don't you see, and he 's cleared out 
and left 'em both." 

" May be he was afraid of the fires. Oh, Alec ! 
Suppose we had a real house of our own, and had 
to see it burnt up ! That would be worse than los- 
ing our claim." 

" A heap worse. But we 're not likely to have a 

house of our own very soon, 'less we jump this 

They were at the edge of the prospect-hole, 
gazing down into it, and Alec was listening for the 
thud of a stone he had dropped. 

" It 's awful deep ! He must 'a' worked here 
'most all summer, if he worked alone. Think how 
many times he must 'a' filled that bucket, and 
climbed out, and hauled it up after him, and every 
time, I s'pose, he hoped he 'd find somethin'. Pop 
says it wears a man out, this waitin' and waitin'." 

"What does he do it for, then?" said Nanny. 
" I don't believe mother wants him to. Did n't 
you hear a noise then ? " 

" Heard it before, but I thought you 'd be fright- 
ened, so I did n't say anything. Sounds like some 
one groanin'." 

"There is some one in the cabin, Alec ! May be 
he 's sick, or hurt, or something ! Do you s'pose 
he could hear what we said about taking his 
cabin ? " whispered Nanny, as they neared the 

'• What if he did ? If he gets well, he wont be 
'fraid of us; and if he does n't, he wont care." 

" Oh, hush — do ! He 's there, and he is sick ! " 

Nanny was peering through the door, which 
stood open. A broad beam of sunlight crossed the 
gloom of the low, square cell, — for it could hardly 
be called a room, — and fell with a ruthless glare 
upon the face and head of a man lying on a bed 
of logs, placed side by side on the floor, with a few 
withered pine boughs and old blankets tossed over 
them. He had writhed himself about until his 
head rested on the dirt floor, but still the sunbeams 
pursued him. They showed with startling distinct- 
ness the swollen, discolored face, and the matted 
beard and hair which straggled over it. Both chil- 
dren held back a moment, for the man was a hide- 
ous picture of misery. Then Nanny whispered : 

" Shut the door ! He don't like the sun." 

Should they shut themselves in, with dirt and 
gloom and squalid sickness, or outside, in the clear, 
pure sunlight, and leave him ? 

The little stream turned its bright eye upon the 
children, as they hesitated a moment at the door. 
Who can tell what secret understanding there may 
have been between it and the night winds which 
blew up the fires and laid bare the children's 
claim ? For many days and nights it had been 
telling the story of the sick man, alone in his cabin 
in the woods, but few listened and no one under- 
stood. The "claim" was a waste, and the pretty 
Christmas trees were dead ; but Christmas means 
something better than hanging playthings on a 
tree. The real meaning of Christmas had come to 
the children on this hot summer day, as they stood 
at the sick man's door. So they shut themselves 




in with him. Nanny refolded smoothly the old 
coat which served him for a pillow, and together 
they lifted his head and laid it upon it. He could 

tried to move them, and then rolled his head from 
side to side and moaned. 

" Perhaps he wants a drink," said Alec. " That 

not open his eyes, for his face was fearfully swollen 
and covered with unsightly red blotches. His lips, 
too, were swollen and cracked with fever. He 
Vol. VII.— 17. 

pail looks as if it had n't had any water in it for a 
The sick man made an eager gesture toward 




the pail. The children took it to the stream. If 
they had brought it back filled with the gold he 
had sought so long, how bitterly he would have 
spurned it for one mouthful of the water, which, all 
summer, had been flowing unheeded past his door ! 

" Would you like us to send for a doctor to see 
you ? " Nanny asked, when they had given him a 
drink, and set the pail and cup within his reach. 

He muttered something about " pardner " and 
" Stray Horse gulch," he paid no heed to Nanny's 
second question about the doctor, but continued 
his incoherent mutterings ; the words "pardner" 
and " Stray Horse," recurring from time to lime. 

" Have you got a partner, and is he at Stray 
Horse gulch ? Do you want us to send for him ? " 

He shook his head with a fierce laugh which 
made his face more hideous than before. 

The children could make nothing of his mut- 
terings, and very soon he seemed to fall asleep, or 
into a kind of stupor, — for his eyes were always 
closed, — and then the brother and sister stole away, 
shutting out the sunlight. 

" Now, see here," said their mother, when they 
had finished their long story, "it was the right 
thing for you to do. I don't find any fault with 
what have you done; but you Ye run a terrible 

" We don't know what kind of sickness he 's 
got, it may be measles, there 's plenty of it 'round, 
or it might be something a great deal worse. I 
don't want you both sick on my hands, they 're 
full enough as it is, so just keep away from that 
cabin after this ! I don't want you to go any- 
where near it ! I '11 tell the doctor about him 
when I go in town to-night. Now, eat your sup- 
pers and be quick about it ! " 

She got up with a sigh, and they saw that she 
looked worried and tired. 

" Can't I carry the basket in for you to-night, 
mother? " Alec asked, " so you need n't go? " 

"I 've got to go, I tell you," she answered, with 
a sharpness quite unlike her usual manner, " I 
want to get some money for father." She gave 
the quick sigh again, and then kissed them both, 
with a hand on the shoulder of each. " Don't be 
running out and getting cold, and be sure to go 
to bed early." 

The forest fires mounted high that night behind 
the pines west of the Peerie cabin. The children 
watched them from the door, and then climbed to 
the path beside the ditch, from which they could 
look far into the heart of the stricken forest. 

From the direction of the fires, they saw that the 
sick man's cabin must be in their track, and they 
looked at each other with terror in their eyes. 

" Mother said we must n't go there again," 
whispered Nanny, a tremor of doubt in her tone. 

'• Mother would n't see a man burnt up before 
her face and eyes, I guess ; you 'd better not come 
Nan ; but I 'm going to see." 

Alec ran ahead, and Nanny followed more slowly, 
for the path by the ditch was narrow, and all the 
light came from the red glare before her, which 
half-blinded her eyes. 

At a turn in the channel, she came upon the belt 
of fire, extending as far as she could see, along the 
windward side of the stream. These fires had been 
started for the purpose of laying waste a strip of 
the forest on the track of the advancing fires from 
the valley, so that when they came to it they might 
be checked for want of fuel. They were hurrying 
on with a terrible confederate (the wind) at their 
back, while the defensive fires being started against 
the wind, were thus prevented from becoming un- 

There was a guard of men in charge of the fires, 
lest the wind should shift and turn them into a foe 
instead of an ally ; they were lounging on the 
ground, watching the leaping, restless flames in 
silence, like the silence which falls upon people 
who watch the motion of a brook, or a fountain or 
a water-fall; a motion always changing, and yet 
repeating itself, and with a continuous voice of its 
own. The fires had a voice, as changeful and vio- 
lent as their movements. It was crackling laugh- 
ter when the flames leaped and clung to a dry 
pine-bough, half-way up the trunk, whirling its 
torch against the darkness, and then dropping it in 
a shower of sparks, while the steadier flames coiled 
up the trunk, waiting for another spring ; it rustled 
and hissed like a serpent in the underbrush, — it 
roared among the dry, heaped boughs, and mut- 
tered, as it blinked and flickered in the embers, 
licking up the least morsels of its feast. 

The men were very rough-looking, but their 
silence and their quiet attitudes encouraged Nanny 
to ask them if they had seen her brother pass. 

One of them looked at her a moment, and took 
his pipe from his mouth to say : 

" There was a boy came this way with a story 
'bout a sick man down in the woods. Two of our 
fellers went along with him." 

"Yes, that 's Alec," said Nanny; "which way 
did they go ? " 

" Why, you can't foller 'em, sissy ! They had 
to go considerable ways down to git across the 
fires. Had n't ye better run home ? " 

" Oh no, please ! mother 's away and it 's too 
lonesome ! " 

She sat down on a fallen log, shivering, not so 
much with cold, as with excitement and a vague 
terror of the scene. It was indeed a wild and 
beautiful sight, that long lane of fire, with the 
stream at one side, reflecting its red splendor, the 



forest behind it, and rolling up against the sky, 
that heavy cloud of smoke, lurid with the flames 
hidden in its folds. The tall pines standing oppo- 
site the fire looked as if painted on the black sky in 
pale, gray light; the wind rocked them to and fro, 
and long, surging sighs swept through all their 
spectral branches ; the fire, blown back by the 
wind, reached its baffled hands toward them across 
the dividing stream and roared hungrily. It was 
Saturday night, the miners and prospectors from 
the hills were gathered into the town in the gulch, 
filling it with discordant noises ; tramping of heavy 
boots on the board side-walks, hoarse shoutings, 
and bursts of music, softened by the distance. A 
huge, brilliantly-lighted tent, called the " Great 
Western Amphitheater," seemed the center of the 
revelry. Nanny thought of the sick man, alone in 
his cabin, and wondered if, in all that noisy crowd, 
there was no one who missed him. It seemed to 
her very dreadful that the town should be giving 
itself up to merriment, with such a terrible enemy 
at its back. If she had been older, she might have 
taken comfort from the thought that the empty 
voices are the loudest, and that our ears cannot 
hear the busy silences, which are full of help and 

"Here, take this!" the man said, tossing to- 
ward her the coat he had been lying on. " You 're 
Mrs. Peerie's little gal, aint ye ? She done my 
washin' for a spell after I first come, but I 've got 
my own woman It 's a heap better. 
I 've got a young one about your size, — only, my 
gal 's a boy." 

" Is he any of your folks ? " 

" Who ? " asked Nanny. 

"The sick tfian," pointing over his shoulder 
toward the woods. 

" Oh, no ! We just happened to find him ; we 
don't even know his name." 

" Pretty rough ! My name 's Kinney ; you ask 
your ma if she don't remember me ; she washed a 
pair o' pants for me once ; I paid her a dollar, 'n' 
they wus worth it ; never srunk a bit! " 

Black figures were now seen coming along the 
path ; sharp touches of light soon began to show 
on their faces, and Nanny recognized Alec first; 
'then two men followed, bearing a burden between 
them. They laid it down near a group of men 
waiting below. 

The man who called himself- Kinney got up and 
strolled toward this group, while Alec, running past 
him to meet Nanny, exclaimed : 

" There 's a man down there, who knows him, 
says his name 's Bill Lauder. Come along and see 
what they 're going to do with him ! " 

A tall, sandy-bearded man was bending over the 
bundle of blankets, saying in a slow, careless voice : 

"What gits me is, Bill's pardner up to Stray 
Horse told me only yist'day that they 'd quit, and 
Bill had put out for ole St. Jo to see his wife 
and young ones." 

" Bill aint got any wife, now, nor young ones 
neither," said another voice. "The typhus cleaned 
him out more 'n' a year ago." 

" Wal ! I 'lowed I 'd heered that myself. This 
here 's a game that needs watchin'. Take him 
'long to my cabin, boys ; I '11 go in to see the doc- 
tor 'bout him." 

" He 's terrible sick," said one of the two 
bearers, who stood near. The others had quickly 
dispersed at sight of the face, half concealed by 
the blankets. "He's got small-pox onto him, or 
measles, anyhow. He don't know nothin', does 
he ? " 

" No, he don't. Take him 'long to my bunk ! 
I' ve had small-pox, 'n' if I did n't have measles, I 
can't git 'em no younger. Pick him up easy ! " 

The bearers took up their unconscious burden 
and walked on in uncomfortable silence. 

Jane Peerie had very little to say to the children's 
story that night. She sighed her little, quick sigh : 

" Well, I can't say as you 've done anything but 
what 's right, and if trouble comes of it, I suppose 
it 's our share." 

She came to them after they were in bed and 
kissed them both good-night again. 

"Why, mother!" Nanny suddenly exclaimed. 
" It 's Saturday night ! Where 's father ? " 

" He stayed in town to see his partner." 

"Why ! I did n't know he had one ! " 

" Well, it 's something new. It was only yes- 
terday they fixed things up between them." 

" Who is he, mother ? " 

"I don't know his name. He came from the 
camp at Stray Horse gulch." 

" I wonder," whispered Nanny, as the mother 
turned away, " if it could be ." 

" Oh, fudge ! " said Alec. " You 're always 
wondering. I guess there 's more 'n one man in 
Stray Horse gulch ! " 

But Nanny continued to wonder, and one day 
she wondered with some reason. They had wan- 
dered to the deserted prospect-hole and the heap 
of ashes and charred logs which had been the sick 
man's cabin. They were poking about among the 
fragments of a pine stump, hunting for pieces of 
charcoal straight and long enough to mark with, 
when they came upon a tin tobacco-can. 

Opening it, they found within a stout leather 
wallet, which was stuffed with bank-bills, much 
soiled and crumpled, a few gold pieces, a watch, 
and some articles of rather common jewelry. It 
looked quite a precious store to the children. 

" They must belong to him," said Alec. They 




often talked about their sick man, and always 
called him " Him." 

"This must have been his bank; 't was a pretty 
safe one, was n't it ? " 

They took the wallet home to their mother, and 
the next day she carried it to the cabin where Bill 
Lauder was being nursed. The tall, sandy man, 
whose name was Keeler, said that Bill had got well 
" 'mazin' sudden after all." He was " res'less, 'n' 
wanted to put off somewheres — did n't keer much 
where. He war lookin' for a pardner o' his — and 
fact is, ma'am, I could n't tell you now where Bill 
is ! You jist keep that there pile, Mis' Peerie, and 
I '11 let Bill know where to go for it when I hear 
from him. I know well enough what he 'd do with 
it if he was here. He 'd jest sling it at them young 
ones o' yourn, what picked him out o' the fire, or 
he aint the kind o' chap I take him for ! " 

Mrs. Peerie laughed in a rather nervous way. 
She took the "pile" home with her, and put it 
safely away. The next day, both children were 
taken sick with the measles. Three weeks of trou- 
ble followed, and poor Jane was tempted some- 
times to feel that it was a little more than their 
share. The children were very ill. Her work took 
her away from them a good deal, and in her ab- 
sences the fire would get low, and the children took 
cold. With all this care, there was an added anx- 
iety in the fact that she had neither seen her hus- 
band, nor heard from his camp on the mountain, 
since the Saturday night she had furnished him 
with her last earnings, for the partnership. 

One day, early in the fourth week, he walked 
into the cabin. He looked rather haggard, as if 
with illness or anxiety ; but the expression of his 
face was more bewildered than unhappy. If Jane 
Peerie had ever seen a picture of Rip Van Winkle 
awakening from his long sleep on the mountain, 
her husband's face would have reminded her of it, 
as he seated himself by the fire, stretched out his 
legs, and looked about him. 

" What ! the children sick, too ? " 

"Why, yes, Ben ! I sent word to you a week 
ago that they had the measles." 

" So you did — I remember now — but I s'posed 
they 'd be around before this. Well, I 've et my 
last meal in that shanty up there." 

" What 's happened to you, Ben? You look so 
queer ! " 

" Well, I feel queer ! I 've been feelin' uneasy 
for a good while, but things have took a most on- 
expected turn with me. It 's as if I 'd got started 
on a down grade, goin' like thunder, an' the brake 
would n't pull a pound, V just as I was gittin' 
ready to jump, the whole outfit went sailin' round 
the turn, every mule in line and the load as steady 
as a church steeple ! " 

" Well, I can't see what you 're tryin' to get at." 

" Sit down, little woman, and I '11 tell you. 
What 'd you say if I was to quit prospectin', and 
go back to teamin' ag'in ? " 

" Ben ! That 's just what I 've been praying for 
these six months." 

" Why did n't you tell me so, then." 

" Well, I did n't want you to give up your way 
till you was sick of it — because, if you did, and 
things went wrong, you might throw it up at me 
that I had stood in the way of your doing better." 

" Well, I guess you was about right, as you 
usually are. I 'm sick enough of that hole up there, 

' ' But what 's become of your pardner ? " 

" That 's more 'n I can tell you. I know it took 
just about what was left of that money you scraped 
up, to git him to Denver last Monday week. He 
was clean busted, he said, — had n't but two nickels 
of his own. You see, for every dollar I put up 
he was to go two, because my summer's work was 
thrown in, and, if we struck it, he was to have half. 
Well, that looked square ; but his money was all 
in Denver, and he wrote an' wrote, an' it did n't 
come. He spent most of his time trampin' back 
an' forth to town. He seemed dreadful uneasy, 
an' finally nothin' would do but he must go 'n' 
look after it. He 'd been gone a week Monday 'n' 
nary sign from him. I began to feel peculiar my- 
self. It was my turn to go trampin' in town and 
stand in the line at the post-office. I did n't let on 
to you, Janey, 'cause I knew you 'd be worried — I 
was worried myself. It hurt me a good deal to 
have your money fooled away like that. I never 'd 
'av' asked for it, only I hated to throw away all I 'd 
put into the hole. And I could n't go on with 
it alone. You aint in a hurry 'bout anything, 
are you ? Seem to be fidgetin' in your chair 
some. " 

" I wish, Ben, you 'd tell me how it 's all 

" Did n't I tell you we cleared the curve, just as 
I was shakin' loose for a jump ? 'Twas about 
Wednesday noon there came to the cabin a tall, 
bony man, rather peaked lookin', with big black 
eyes, 'n' he says : 

" ' Kin I see your pardner, Cantripp ? ' " 

" ' No, you can't,' ses I, V then I told him 
about the trip to Denver. 

"He smiled a curus sort of smile, and then he 
says : 

" ' I reckon I know Cantripp better 'n you do, if 
you expect to see him agin.' 

" He set to then 'n' told me his whole story. Can- 
tripp 'n' he 'd prospected together for more 'n a 
year and had some luck till they stuck on that hole 
back there in the woods. He got sick with the 




measles — had 'em awful bad — crazy with 'em — and 
Cantripp left him alone in the cabin there, 'n' give 
out that he 'd gone home to Missouri. Hooked 
his pile, too, 'n' some trinkets " 

"No, they 're all here! The children found 
them close by the prospect hole ! " 

"Great sign! What '11 them young ones do 
next. Lauder — Bill Lauder, his name is — told me 
all about 'em. 

" ' Peerie,' says he, ' their name was,' lookin' 
at me with that queer smile of his. 

" ' My name 's Peerie,' says I. 

" ' So I 've heered,' says he. ' 'T would be queer 
now, would n't it, if you should turn out to be the 
father o' that boy and gal.' So we shook hands 
on it." 

" They 've got the measles of him, you know." 

" Yes! I concluded as much, but I did n't let 
on to him, as they was anyways the worse for what 
they 'd done. He 's made it all square, I guess. 
He 's bought me clean out ; give me a check on 
the bank for a clean fifteen hundred for the old 
cabin, and the hole, and what 's to come out of it. 
I say I 'm well quit ! What do you say, little 
woman ? And I aint goin' to shove it down no 
more prospect holes neither." 

One day, a few months later, when Mrs. Peerie 
was hanging out her " wash," the shadow of a man's 
hat and shoulders crossed the white sheet she was 
pinning up. She turned quickly and saw a tall, 
bony, black-eyed man, — " rather peaked-lookin'," 
she said to herself, remembering her husband's 
description of Bill Lauder. 

"Hope I did n't scare ye, ma'm ! My name's 
Lauder. P'r'aps you 've heered it before." 

" Yes, indeed !" said Jane Peerie, with a quick 
smile. " Come in, Mr. Lauder. We 've got some 
of your property waiting for you here." 

" 'T was on account of that same property I 
come here to-day, ma'am." 

He took the chair Mrs. Peerie offered, and tilted 
himself about on it rather uneasily when he talked. 

" You see, my pardner was a keerful man. 
He knew I could n't look after my truck, bein' 
sick, so he 'lowed he 'd put it in a safe place, — 
only, ye see, he forgot to tell me where 't was. 
Howsomever, them young ones o' yourn found it. 
So I 've heered" 

There was silence a moment. 

" I dunno as them child'n 'd be any better off if 
they had money, but if they would, I wish my pile 
was bigger." 

He rose and stood by the door, drawing his large 
forefinger up and down a crack in the panel. 

"'Cause what 's mine is theirn, you know, 
ma'am, after what they 've done for me. I aint no 
family of my own. Them rings and the locket, — 
I dunno but I '11 take them 'long with me. They 
belonged to my wife. But the money I aint no 
partic'lar use for, and the watch I 'd like that boy 
o' yourn to pack round when he gits big enough. 
The money 'd better go to the girl. Boys ought 
to earn their own money." 

The children running in, a few minutes later, 
met Mr. Lauder on the door-step. He took hold 
of the boy's shoulder with a hard grip, and looked 
in his face a moment, but the little girl's hands he 
held in his, stroking them softly. 

He did not speak a word to either, and when he 
had gone, the children questioned their mother 
about the stranger. 

We have just heard all that she told them. The 
little stream could have told the story and finished 
it much better than anyone else; but its stories 
are very long, — so long that most of us think we 
are too busy to listen to them. 





By Rosa Graham. 

Sow, sow, sow, 
So the farmers sow ! 
Busy, busy, all the day, 
While the children are at play, 
Stowing, stowing close away 
Baby wheat and rye in bed, 
So the children may be fed, 

So, so, so. 

Sew, sew, sew, 
So the mothers sew ! 
Busy, busy, all the day, 
While the children are at play, 
Sewing, sewing fast away, 
So the children may have frocks, 
Trowsers, coats, and pretty socks, 

So, so, so, 

Sow, sew, so, 
So they sow and sew ; 
S, and O, and W, 
This is what the farmers do ; 
Put an E, in place of O, 
This is how the mothers sew, — 
So they sow and sew for you, 
So without the W, 

So, so, so. 

By Louis C. Elson. 

N THAT one evening, Maud 
and Arthur were tired of 
their music lessons. It was 
not that they were either lazy 
or incapable, but they had 
reached an era in their prac- 
ticing which comes at least 
once to every boy and girl, 
in studying piano music, 
when the work loses its flavor, and can be pushed 
further only by real perseverance and " grit." 

Besides, a reaction had set in. They had been 
studying with great zeal to be able to display their 
newest pieces to their Uncle Herbert, on his re- 
turn from China. Maud had learned the whole of 
Schumann's first Album, and Arthur had almost 
learned Kullak's " Kinderscenen." Uncle Her- 
bert was very fond of music, and, though he had 
not seen them since their babyhood (Maud was 
four and Arthur two when he went away), he had 
sent a sum of money to their mother, asking her 
to apply it to their musical studies : and that was 
why they had overworked since they had heard, 
four months before, that he was coming home. 

" I am getting tired of practicing," said Arthur 
confidentially to his sister. " I 've been cramming 
awfully on that Kullak set, and our old piano is 
getting almost 'tin-pan-y.' Every time I play to 
Harry Somers, he asks me if I can stand the tone 
of that piano all the time." 

" I know that, Artie," said the more quiet 
Maud. " Edith says something very much the 
same to me, but I don't mind it — much. Still, I 
know I shall be dreadfully nervous, after all my 
practicing, when I play to uncle." 

"Pooh!" answered Arthur, "you 've got it 
easy enough. You stretch an octave, and Mr. 
Lichtenstein lets you use the pedal, which he won't 
let me do, and he always praises you, and calls me 
' careless.' I 'm the one to be scared." 

But neither of them was scared, when, instead 
of a severe old man, they found their uncle a 
hearty, young-looking, good-humored fellow, who 
never said a word about music the first few days he 
was with them, but entered into their sports, 
gave Maud a pair of Chinese ladies' slippers 
which she scarcely could cram even her toes into ; 
made an enormous dragon kite for Arthur, and, 




in fact, in ever so many ways, was a lovable, story- 
telling uncle, full of fun and cheer. 

When they did play to him (he asked them if he 
should " sit with them while they practiced ") they 
enjoyed it as much as he did, which was very much 

But, one day, while they were out to try the new 
kite, Arthur suddenly said : 

"There ! it's striking five, and I must go home 
to practice. It 's awful work." 

"Why, Arthur," said Uncle Herbert, "you 
don't have to work as hard at your music, as a 
Chinaman does at his, when he studies it." 

"Do they have music away off there ?" asked 
the astonished Arthur. 

" H'm ! well, it 's not what we might call music, 
but they call it so, and love it very much." 

"Oh, do tell us about Chinese music," cried 
Maud, who had come out in search of her uncle 
and brother. 

" Well, I '11 make an agreement with you both; 
we 'II dip into musical history together, after you 've 
finished practicing, every day." 

" Oh, that 's jolly ! " shouted Arthur. " Shall 
we begin to-night ? " 

" Yes. After supper we '11 see what we can find 
interesting in the music of the Chinese." 

That evening the family gathered to hear Un- 
cle Herbert's tales of strange music. Mother 
brought in her sewing, and improved her mind 
and the children's stockings at the same time, 
for, since their father died, it had been necessary to 
economize, and she did so in time as well as in 

But the children sat on the lounge, one on 
each side of Uncle Herbert, devoting their entire 
attention to the new story which they felt sure 
would be the best of all he had yet told them. 

"I suppose we ought to begin at the begin- 
ning," said he, "since Chinese music is said to 
have been invented by a person whom you have 
often read about. He was Emperor of China 
about 2950 B. C, or nearly 5,000 years ago. The 
Chinese called him Fo Hi, but some of our own 
people suppose that he really was Noah, who 
lived about that time. The Chinese also hold that 
much of their music was brought to them 
from heaven by a bird which they named the 
' Foang-Hoang. ' This was supposed to be a 
very fortunate bird, which never appeared any- 
where else but in China, and, whenever it came, it 
brought good luck with it. It appeared whenever 
a good emperor was born, and its nest was wrapped 
in mystery, for no one knew where it dwelt." 

" Why, that 's something like the Phcenix, that 
the Greeks used to believe in," said Maud. 

"Yes, there is a resemblance; perhaps the 

Greeks borrowed their bird from the Chinese one. 
This bird appeared with its mate, when Ling Lun, 
by the order of the Emperor Hoang-Ti, was mak- 
ing his first inventions in music. It sang to him 
in six tones, while its mate also used six different 
ones, making a scale containing twelve notes, just 
like our chromatic scale. But the Chinese only 
use five of these, and call the others ' female tones.' 
In China, everything female is thought to be use- 

" Have n't they got topsy-turvy ideas ! " said 

" Well, in this case they are open to that suspi- 
cion. The singing of the ' Foang-Hoang ' was such 
beautiful music that it caused absolute goodness in 
every one who heard it, and its songs had the beau- 
tiful name of ' Tsie-ven,' — ' Temperance and 
Mercy.' After Hoang-Ti, came an emperor named 
Chao-Hao, who invented a new mode of marking 
time. He had large drums beat at various hours 
of the night, to tell what o'clock it was ; he com- 
posed, also, many songs. The earliest emperors 
all studied music, but it was with a view of teach- 
ing their subjects good manners and morals. The 
songs were sometimes only directions when to 
plant seeds, how to catch fish, how to behave in 
company, and so on. Sometimes, the words are to 
keep the emperor's own duty in mind. Thus, one 
begins : ' The breeze of mid-day brings warmth 
and dispels sorrow ; may it be the same with Chun, 
may he be the joy and consolation of his people.' 

" Another emperor, — Yu, the great, — used mu- 
sical instruments for a very good purpose. He 
placed before his palace a large and a small bell, a 
drum, a tamtam, and a tambourine, and any per- 
son having business' with him would be admitted 
on striking one of these." 

" What 's a ' tamtam,' uncle ? " asked Arthur. 

" A kind of gong. By the various sounds, he 
could tell, before seeing him, the nature of his visi- 
tor's business. The large bell meant that the person 
was coming to complain of an injustice ; the small 
one was for private visitors ; the drum told that 
the business was about the manners or customs of 
the empire ; the tamtam, a public misfortune ; the 
tambourine asked for the emperor's judgment in 
regard to some crime. China possessed some very 
patriotic songs at this ancient date, and when, at a 
later period (245 B. C), a usurper won the throne, 
he was more afraid of the music than of anything 
else. He thought that, by reminding the people 
of their good emperors, they would be encouraged 
to resist him. Do you recollect anything like this 
in your English history, Arthur? " 

" Edward I. killed the Welsh bards because he 
was afraid their singing roused the people against 
him, "said Arthur, fresh from a recent history lesson. 




" Well, Tchi-chi did n't have any bards to kill ; 
but he ordered all the ancient books to be burned. 
Especially he tried to destroy all the works of the 
great philosopher, Confucius. All the instruments 
of music were to be broken up and new ones made, 
and in every way he tried to root out all the old 
songs and tunes. Those who tried to conceal any- 
thing were punished with death. And yet, many 
people risked their lives in hiding their instru- 
ments and books in the walls of houses and in the 

"What a monster he must have been!" said 

" Not in all respects ; he built the great wall of 
China, which was a good thing for the country," 
replied Uncle Herbert. 

" But did the Chinese have many books about 
music ? " inquired Arthur. 

" They had and have more than any other 
nation. They have whole libraries of musical 
books. Tn the library of Pekin, there are four 
hundred and eighty-two strictly musical books, and 
hundreds which are partially musical. I don't 
mean books of music, but histories and essays. 
Hundreds of years after Tchi-chi (A. D. 640), the 
Emperor Tay-tsung searched vigorously for the 
books and musical instruments which had been bur- 
ied and concealed, and tried to recover some of the 
old style of music. He did n't succeed altogether, 
and the Chinese have very little of their ancient 
music nowadays. They think that the old music 
must have been very beautiful, and use at their 
greatest feasts whatever they have of it." 

"Oh, uncle! did you ever hear any of it?" 
cried both the children. 

"Yes. I even trietl to copy one of their old 
tunes, which they sang at a 'feast of ancestors.' 
They hum it, very gravely and slowly ; and to me 
it seems very monotonous. Play it to us, Maud." 

And Maud took the scrap of paper which Uncle 
Herbert gave to her from his memorandum-book, 
and, going to the piano, played this : 
Ve/y sloiv. 


V - 

JL. ** 










"Well it 's not exactly lively, but recollect that 
this is their sacred music ; their popular songs are 
sung in quicker style." 

"But do they really enjoy such tame stuff?" 
asked Arthur. 

" Oh ! yes. It is associated with their parents, 
their childhood, their whole lives, and that means 
a great deal ; then, also, it has poetical and moral 
poetry attached, which is more. I '11 tell you how 
much they like it : in the last century, a number 
of missionaries went to China from France, and 
one of these, Father Amiot, was a good musician. 
He tried to win their good opinion by his skill on 
the clavichord, the piano of those days, and the 
flute. But, after playing to them the best pieces 
of European music, he found that they had no 
effect upon his audience, and, finally, he asked one 
of his most intelligent friends, a Chinese mandarin, 
if he thought that the music of Europe was not the 
finest in the world. To his astonishment, the reply 
was: ' It may be so, but it is n't made for Chinese 
ears ; our melodies reach right to the heart.' So 
you see that what we think monotonous, is 'to 
them of the greatest beauty, while what we think 
beautiful, fails to delight them. But their pop- 
ular tunes have some melody ; only the people 
insist on singing them through the nose, and as 
'caterwauly' as possible, besides making all kinds of 
din with gongs, drums, etc., so that the real melody 
scarcely can be distinguished. If it were not for 
this, the Chinese tunes would be very much like 
the Scotch. Here is one for you to play, Arthur ; 
with one hand, without accompaniment, for, you 
know, the Chinese don't use harmony." 

Arthur took the paper and read the following 
tune : 

" Oh ! how dull," said everybody in a breath, — 
even mother, from her corner, joining in the cry. 

" I like that better than the other," said Maud, 

" It 's a question whether you would, as they 
sing it. The other is sung with far more impres- 
sive ceremonies. The rules are very strict in 
the performance of the ancestral music ; every 
player and singer has to stand in a particular 





THE hiuen-kou. 

place, — one at the southwest, another at the north- 
east, another at the north, and so on." 

" That is the most curious part of all. In their 
instruments they seem to have anticipated the 
invention of many of our instruments, by some 
thousands of years, but, having once invented 
them, they never seem to have tried to perfect 
them. It is characteristic of these people to 
pause at the threshold of great discoveries. Take 
the organ, for example ; the Chinese knew the 
principle of the reed-organ 4,500 years ago, and 
to-day know no more than they did then." 

"What is their organ like?" eagerly asked 

" I '11 show you. But don't expect to see a 
large church-organ." And Uncle Herbert went 
upstairs to his room, whence he immediately re- 
turned with a bundle of papers. "Here is a draw- 
ing of the Chinese organ or cheng. It has usually 
twenty-four pipes of bamboo, which are inserted in 
the gourd of a calabash. In each of these pipes is 
a reed or tongue of gold or copper, which, by its 
vibration, causes the sound, as in our cabinet 
organs ; beneath this reed a hole is made in the 
bamboo, and when this hole is left open the air 
rushes out through it without making any sound ; 
but when it is closed, by placing a finger upon it, 
the breath is forced up the tube, compelling the 
reed to vibrate, and give out an agreeable sound. 
It seems incredible that, with such an instrument, 


"But what instruments do they use?" asked the Chinese should not have added harmony to 
the mother. "Are they at all like ours?" their melodies, but they never have. 





" Do they use pianos?" asked Arthur. 

" They have an instrument whose tones are 
somewhat like those of a piano or harp. It is 
called the kin, and consists of silken cords, stretched 
along a sounding-board. There are various sizes of 

this instrument, the largest of which is called the 
che ; it is sometimes nine feet long, and has 
twenty-five strings. Here is a picture of a per- 
former on the che." 

" What is the other man doing with the little 
box?" asked both of the children, with much 

" That is n't a box," replied Uncle Herbert ; 


" it is a sort of drum called the pa-sou, and he is 
playing it, in the customary manner, with his 
hands ; it is filled with grains of rice, which make 
it sound somewhat like a baby's rattle when it is 

"Well, I think the Chinese don't touch us on 
drums," said Arthur. "Our smallest toy drums 
would beat that." 

" Wait a bit," said Uncle Herbert. "You have 
only seen one kind. These ' celestials ' have eight 
sorts, some of which are, in every sense of the 
word, hard to beat. Here are two in this old pict- 
ure, which was made by a missionary, a hundred 
and fifty years ago. The large drum is called the 
Hiuen-Kou, and is to be struck heavily ; two small 
ones are suspended from the sides and are struck 
lightly, as accompaniment to the big one. 
They have different names, according to the side 
they hang on. The little drum on a stick is the 
little Tao-kou, and has a string running through 
it which hangs down on each side, ending in knots 
or balls. It is played at funerals, and also in con- 
certs, to announce the end and beginning of vari- 
ous divisions of the music. Sometimes, it is held 
in the left hand and struck with the right, and 
sometimes it is twirled in the hands, and this causes 
the knots to rap against the faces of the drum." 

"Do they play in church the organ that you 
showed us?" asked Maud. 

"Oh, no! They like the organ to dance by 
best. Their grandest religious ceremony is usually 
accompanied by several instruments ; but the most 
important of these is an expensive instrument, 
called the King. It is made of stones cut in proper 
shapes and finely polished ; these are hung on # a 
frame and struck with a wooden mallet. The 
stones, which are very valuable and of beautiful 
colors, are found near the river-banks in the prov- 
ince of Yun-nan. The picture of a man practic- 
ing on the king might remind one of the Swiss 
bell-ringers and their apparatus." 

■ 88o.J 



" Why, all these instruments seem ingenious 
and musical," said mother. 

"They would be, if they were played in our 

" But do the Chinese ever use any of our in- 
struments?" said mother, now greatly interested. 
" The violin they are rather fond of, and the 


style ; but the Chinese love to add all possible 
clatter and din to the tune. Gongs, drums, trum- 
pets, and bells, serve to drown the melody. At 


the beginning and end of each piece, a meaning- 
less clatter of sticks and wooden utensils is kept up. 
Here, for instance, is the Tchu, which is 
only a mallet fastened in a wooden box, 
and which is sounded by a person put- 
ting his hand through the hole and giving 
it a pull. It only gives an irregular 'rat- 
tat-tat ' against the sides of the box ; but 
that increases the noise, and therefore 
pleases the audience. In addition to this, 
each of these instruments is dear to them 
on account of the legends and symbolical 
meanings which have been attached to 
it. Even this wooden box, the Tchu, is supposed 
to typify the advantages of social intercourse." 

flute. But they like our music-boxes best of all; 

so much so, that the manufacturers in Switzerland 

make boxes with Chinese tunes, expressly for that 
market, and great numbers are sold in 
China. Some Chinese are fond of the pi- 
ano; and so are the people of Japan, where 
many music-boxes and pianos are sold, the 
empress herself being a very good pian- 
ist. But, after all, music-boxes are liked 
everywhere; even in the very heart of 
Africa, travelers have found that it is a 
sure road to the favor of a chief to give 
him a music-box. 

" Then, too, they have the gut-komm, 
which is the Chinese guitar, and is not very 


and here is the samm-jin, or samm-sin, which, as 

samm-jin, OR CHINESE BANJO. 

you see, is a much more primitive instrument. 
It appears to bear about the same relation to the 




gut-komm that our banjo does to the guitar. As 
the picture indicates, it has three strings of catgut. 
"It is probable that neither of these two instru- 
ments is of Chinese origin, but that both came to 
China from India. The samm-jin is also a favorite 


in Japan, and it is certainly to be found in the 
wedding outfit of every bride. 

•' The ty is a good example of the kind of flutes 
used by the Chinese. It is made of bamboo, and 
has three embouchures, or breathing-holes, instead 
of one, as our flute has. 

" One of the harshest of all Chinese instruments, 
whose sound is sufficient to set one's teeth on edge, 
is the fiddle of two strings. It had, like the samni- 
jin, an Indian origin. The small sounding-board 
is made of the skin of the gazelle, and the strings 
are made of the intestines of that animal. 

" All of you will remember the excruciating toy 
which the boys invented a short time ago, and 
which consisted of a waxed string drawn through a 
tin box. Well, the small sounding-board of this 
instrument looks like that unpleasant toy, and its 
tones bring it to mind yet more forcibly." 

" How do they write their music?" asked Arthur, 
memories of the difficulties in reading bass notes 
coming over him. 

" They have one of their letters or hieroglyphs 
for each note." 

" And wont they ever like our beautiful compo- 
sitions?" was Maud's pitying question. 

" It 's not very probable, though occasionally an 
enthusiast rises among them. In the year 1678 or 
'79 the emperor, Kang-Hi, became infatuated with 

bored, and desisted from forcing our gentle music 
upon the poor Chinese." 

The clock here joined in the conversation by 
striking ten. 

"Why, we are an hour beyond bed-time!" 
anxiously exclaimed mo- 
ther; "shall we hear the 
rest to-morrow ? " 

" There is no 'rest,'" 
said Uncle Herbert. " I have given you all I 
can think of on the subject, that the young heads 
can take in ; so this evening's history is done." 

That night, Arthur dreamt that he was entertain- 
ing the emperor of China with variations of " Pina- 


European music. He studied it himself from the 
missionaries ; he made his courtiers study it ; he 
wrote a book about it ; and he made his musicians 
play it; but at last he saw that everybody was 

THE tcku. 

fore " played on the king, and his mother was 
aroused late at night by his pounding on the wall 
during his imaginary performance. But the mu- 
sic lessons improved, and many an evening the 
party gathered in the library to hear the music of 
various nations, as Uncle Herbert had heard it in 
his travels. 

The crisis of dullness in 
the musical studies soon 
passed away, and, before 
Uncle Herbert went back 
to Hong-Kong, he saw his 
niece and nephew work- 
ing with zeal and pleasure 
at a study which, for a 
short time, had become 

Yet it did fret them 
both, a little, that their 
piano was not a better 
one. Their mother did 
not feel able to purchase 
a new one for them.. However, their affection and 
good sense would not allow them to complain. 

The week before their uncle's departure was a 
busy one, musically, for them both ; there was to 



2 53 

be a school exhibition in the town-hall, and 
Maud was asked to perform the sixth of Mendels- 
sohn's " Songs without Words," and Arthur, 
Mozart's Sonata in C major. How they felt as 
they came before the large audience ! but, as 
Maud said: "I saw Uncle Herbert looking at 
me nervously, and I made up my mind that I 
would show him I had been studying hard, at 
least." And both pieces went gloriously; so that 
their playmates, Edith and Harry Somers, asked : 
" Did you practice those pieces altogether on your 

own piano : 

Neither of them heeded much 

the implied slur on their little upright; but they 
cared much less for the remark when, after a day's 
ramble with their uncle, they came home hurriedly 
to practice, and found the old piano gone, and in 
its place a new grand-piano, with a large card on 
the music-rack, which bore the inscription : 

"To Maud and Arthur Parkbourne, in mem- 
ory oj the pleasant musical chats with 

"Uncle Herbert." 


By George Kungle. 

Grand Auntie von Tiezle had ordered the 
great family coach and partaken of luncheon, and, 
at one by the clock, sat wrapped in her tippets and 
flappcts, for her grand nieces, the darlings, the 
treasures, had put their pretty heads together, and 
for what ? Why, that the great family coach, with 
Vixen and Spanker, should be ordered to take 
them a ride. 

What a tour they would make ! Since Grand 
Auntie von Tiezle came in possession of the great 
coach, no such marvelous route had been projected. 
In fact, why should it have been ? Were not 
Spanker and Vixen creatures of blood and mettle ? 
Was not the coach a marvel of beauty and polish ? 
Was not Grand Auntie von Tiezle herself given 
to cramps and stitches, and were any of the three 
to be trifled with ? 

But it was plain there was a new leaf to be 
turned with the coming in of the new year. Noth- 
ing was surer than that Grand Auntie von Tiezle 
had ordered the coach for one o'clock, and that 
Bradley, the butler, had been given to understand 
that nobody need be expected till the clock struck 
five — and who could tell what to make of it ? 

Grand Auntie von Tiezle and her nieces were 
cushioned in the great coach. Each heart was in 
a flutter ; each tongue was all a clatter ; each horse 
was at a scamper, and the wheels flew round. 

Grand Auntie von Tiezle was not certain about 
the time it would take to reach Crimpton ; it was 
usually considered a drive of an hour ; everybody 
thought an hour was not long, and began glanc- 
ing to the right and to the left, to the left and to 
the right, to note the progress on the road. 
Everybody glanced carelessly, then more carefully, 
then leaned forward in astonishment. Everybody 

turned to look at everybody, for the coach, at that 
moment, was dashing past Grand Auntie von 
Tiezle's own mansion, which they had left with 
Bradley and the maid servants, and had believed 
to be a mile away ! 

" It is strange ! It is odd ! It is past under- 
standing ! " chimed three young voices. 

" Quite remarkable," said Grand Auntie von 
Tiezle, lying back in the flying coach ; and they 
whisked around a corner ; went a block and 
whisked again around a corner, and, in a trifle of 
time, were again dashing past Grand Auntie von 
Tiezle's own mansion ! 

Astonishment sat on every face. 

"What can be the matter? What can the 
driver be doing? What can he be dreaming of? " 

Impatience mingled with dismay as the horses 
flew along, dust blew up, and the sashes were 
at a clatter, and Blodget sat, tall and serene, 
driving Spanker and Vixen on apace. 

Would Grand Auntie von Tiezle ever speak to 
him ? Would she ever ask him ? Would she ever 
do anything but say : " It is rather odd ! " 

" It is vexatious ! It is outrageous ! " 

Grand Auntie von Tiezle looked in perfect dis- 
may as she heard the exclamations from her nieces. 

" You are on the way to Crimpton, are you not, 
my dears? It seems you are in need of patience." 

" In need of patience? On the way to Crimp- 
ton ? Why, Auntie von Tiezle, we are this minute 
but passing, for the fortieth time, the house from 
which we started." 

" Ah ! " said Auntie von Tiezle, looking provok- 
ingly through her glasses. " Possibly, it is all 
right, my dears. Blodget has his orders : he un- 
derstands the lines ." 




'■' But the road, Auntie dear, the road ! " 

"The road? Ah, yes, it is all correct: it is 
some miles to Crimpton ; I told Blodget to drive 
as fast as he dared. " 

"But he has not started; he is yet at your 
door ! " 

" Yes? Well, he will turn the corner in a mo- 
ment. You see, the roads are poor a mile beyond, 
and I told Blodget to drive the proper number of 
miles around the block, for I wanted him to get to 
Crimpton by a smooth and easy way." 

Nobody could speak. Astonishment was giving 
way to fear. Had Auntie von Tiezie and the driver 
on the box gone mad? But she continued, quite 
sanely : " It is foolish, you know, my dears, to do 
things by hard ways ; it is silly to drive over rough 
roads when you can fly over smooth ones." 

"We have lost our New Year's frolic! We 
have lost our ride to Crimpton ! " cried the voices. 

" Silly dears ! We are riding right along." 

"But the road; there is a right road; there is 
only one way that leads to Crimpton ! " 

"There is only one way? Ah! How? The 
real road, the right road ! Then we must take the 
right road, must we? Then it will not do to go 
by easy ways, smooth ways, our own ways ? " 

" Oh, you wicked, teasing Auntie ! " chimed the 
voices. " You mean to show us " 

" That if you mean to do anything this year you 
must not think about it, talk about it " 

" We see it all now — we understand it all now." 

" Do you want to acquire knowledge ? Then do 
not talk of books, and sigh over the covers, and 
glance at the first page and the last page, and 
hope to get over the difficulties, simply by riding 
around the block. Great men have found it hard 
to tug over! Choose where you wish to go this 
year, and get on the road. Do you want to learn 
to be patient, gentle, Christlike ? make haste and 
get on the road, — not some easy, smooth, round- 
the-block road, but the real, right road ; beware 
this year of riding round the block when you want 
to get to Crimpton." 

Then everybody understood all about it, and 
Auntie von Tiezie was not mad, and the girls pro- 
tested that they would not ride around the block 
this year, but get on roads that led somewhere. 
Then Blodget had new orders, and the wheels flew 
around, and the dust blew about, and on before 
went Spanker and Vixen, and everybody knows, 
of course, that they were at last on the right road 
to Crimpton, and what 's more, they got there ! 




= 55 


By Frank R. Stockton. 

NE Christmas, there was a 
great scarcity of holly in 
that part of the country 
where Colin and his little 
sister Dora lived. Ev- 
erybody decorated their 
houses with Christmas 
greens, and as holly- 
branches and berries were 
particular favorites that year, Colin 
and Dora wished very much to 
get some to put up among the 
clusters of evergreens which their 
father had arranged over the big 
fire-place in their parlor at home. But not a leaf 
or sprig of holly could they find. 

"I tell you, Dora," said Colin,"" we are too late. 
All the people have been out here, and have picked 
every bit of holly they could see. We ought not 
to have waited so long. It is almost Christmas now, 
and of course the persons who wanted holly came 
and got it a good while ago. I know one thing : I 'm 
not going to put off picking holly, next year. I 'm 
coming out into the woods before anybody else." 
" Yes, indeed," said little Dora. 
They wanted so much to find some holly, that 
they did not give up the search, although they 
had been wandering about so long. They had 
found an evergreen bush with some berries on it ; 
but it was not holly. All at once, Colin saw a 
fine twig of holly, with several great leaves and 
some berries as red as ripe cherries, waving gently 
about by the side of a great tree. It seemed as if 
it must be the only sprig on some little bush. 

Without saying a word, Colin dashed forward 
toward the big tree, followed closely by little 
Dora ; but when they reached the holly, they 
found that it was not on a bush at all, but was held 
by a little dwarf, who had been waving it over his 
head to attract their attention. 

" Hello ! ". cried the dwarf. " Don't you want a 
nice sprig of holly?" 

Colin did not answer at first. He was too much 
astonished, and as for Dora, she just stood close to 
her brother, holding tight to his hand. The dwarf 
did not appear to be big enough to do them any 
harm, but he was such a strange creature that it is 
no wonder Colin hesitated before speaking to him. 
He wore a high cap, a funny little coat, and his 
breeches and shoes and stockings were all in one 
piece and fitted very tightly indeed. 

"You do want some holly, don't you?" he said. 

" Yes," said Colin, " I want some very much. 
We have been looking everywhere for it, but could 
n't find a bit." 

" There is n't any more than this," said the 
dwarf. " This is the last sprig in the whole forest. 
And it 's splendid, too. There 's been no holly 
like it in this country for years and years and years. 
Look what big leaves it has, and see how bright 
and shiny they are, and what a fine bunch of ber- 
ries is on it ! It 's very different from that piece of 
bush you have in your hand. That 's not holly." 

'■ I know it is n't," said Colin, " but I thought it 
might do, perhaps, if we did n't find any real 

"But it wont do," said the dwarf. "Nothing 
will do for holly but holly. That 's been settled 
long ago. You can have this, if you '11 pay me 
for it." 

'" How much do you want? " asked Colin. 

" One year of your life," said the dwarf. 

If Colin and Dora were astonished before, they 
were ever so much more astonished now. 

"Why — what do you mean by that?" stam- 
mered Colin. 

"I mean," said the dwarf, "that for one year 
you are to belong to me, and do everything I tell 
you to do." 

" I wont do that," said Colin, who had now re- 
covered his spirits. " It 's too much to ask." 

" Yes, indeed," said little Dora, clinging closer 
to her brother. 

" Well, then," said the dwarf, " what do you 
say to six months ? I will let you have the sprig 
for six months of your life." 

" No," answered Colin, " that 's too much, too." 

"How would a month suit you?" asked the 
dwarf. " That 's not a long time." 

" Indeed it is a longtime," answered Colin. " I 
should think it was a dreadfully long time, if I had 
to do everything you told me to do, for a month." 

" Yes, indeed " said little Dora. 

"Well, then," said the dwarf, "suppose I say a 
week. Nothing could be more reasonable than that. 
I '11 let you have this splendid sprig of holly, — 
the only one you can get anywhere, — if you will 
agree to belong to me for only one week." 

" No," said Colin. 

"A day, then," said the dwarf. "I '11 let you 
have it if you '11 be mine for one day." 

Colin did not answer. He stopped to think. 




What could the dwarf want with him for one day ? 
He might tell him to do something very hard and 
very wrong. Perhaps he would make him commit 
a burglary. That could be done in less than a day. 
While this conversation was going on, two little 
dwarfs, much smaller than the one with the holly- 
sprig, were crouching behind a mound of earth on 
which the larger dwarf was standing, and endeav- 
oring, in all sorts of ways, to catch Dora's eye. 
They had a doll-baby, which they held up between 
them, trying to make her look at it. They seemed 
unwilling to show themselves boldly, probably be- 

earnest little creatures, and directly Colin looked 
up and said : 

" No, 1 wont agree to it for a day." 

"Well, then," said the dwarf, " I wont be hard 
on you. Will you agree to an hour ? " 

Colin thought that in an hour he might be made 
to do something he did n't like at all. Nobody 
could tell what these dwarfs could set a boy to 
doing. So he said : 

" No, not an hour." 

"A minute, then," said the dwarf. 

Colin hesitated. That was not a long time, but 


cause they were afraid of the larger dwarf; but 
they whispered, as loud as they dared : 

" Oh, little girl, don't you want this doll? It 's 
a splendid one, with wiggle-y legs and arms. You 
can have it for just one year of your life. Or, if 
you will be ours for six months, you can take it. 
Look at it! You can have it for just one month 
of your life. Or a week — a short, little week ! " 

But neither Dora nor Colin saw or heard these 

he might be made to fire a gun or do something 
very dangerous in a minute. 

" No, sir," said he. 

" A second? " cried the dwarf. 

"I might strike Dora in a second," thought 
Colin, and he sung out : 

"No, I wont." 

"Well, then, will you take it for nothing?" 
asked the dwarf. 



"Oh, yes," said Colin. "I '11 take it for 

"Here it is," said the dwarf, "and I am very 
glad, indeed, to give it to you." 

" Well ! " exclaimed Colin, in surprise. " You 
are a curious fellow ! But I 'm very glad to get 
the holly. We 're ever so much obliged." 

" Yes, indeed," said Dora, and she fairly jumped 
for joy. 

The two little dwarfs were now nearly frantic in 
their endeavors to make Dora look at their doll. 
They still were afraid to call out, but they whis- 
pered as loud as they could : 

" Oh, ho ! little girl ! Look here ! You can 
have this doll for one short week of your life. For 
a day ! For an hour ! One minute ! A second ! 
Half a second ! For one millionth part of a 
second ! For the twenty-millionth part of a half 
second ! Or for nothing at all ! You can have it 
for nothing ! " 

But Dora heard not a word that they said, and 
never looked at them. 

" Why are you so glad to give me the holly?" 
said Colin to the dwarf. "And if you wanted me 
to have it, why did n't you give it to me at first? " 

" Oh, I could n't do that," said the little fellow. 
"We always have to try to get all the work we can 
out of the boys we offer that holly to, and 1 'm 
glad you did n't make a bargain, because, if you 
had, I don't know what in the world I should have 
set you to doing. I offered it to a boy last year, 
and he agreed to do what I told him for six 
months. He would n't engage for longer than 
that, for his summer holidays would begin at the 
end of that time. And I know he thought he 'd 
rather work for me than go to school. Well, I 
had a dreadful time with that boy. After the first 
week or two, I could n't think of a thing for him to 
do. He had done everything that I wanted. I 
would tell him to go and play, and he would come 
back in an hour or two, and say, ' I 've done play- 
ing ; what shall I do next ? ' And then I 'd have 
to shake my fist at him, and look as cross as I 
could, and tell him that if he did n't go play and 
stay playing, I would do something dreadful to 
him. But of course that sort of thing would n't 
do very long, and so I had to find work for him 
until his time was up. It nearly wore me out. I 
think that if he had agreed for a year, it would 
have driven me crazy." 

" But how did you come to have the holly-sprig, 
if this boy earned it ? " asked Colin. 

" Oh, the first thing I told him to do, after his 

bargain was made, was to give me back that holly. 
We have to do that, or else we could n't keep on 
hiring boys." 

" I call that cheating," said Colin. 

" Yes, indeed," said little Dora. 

" I suppose it is," said the dwarf, "if you look 
at it in a certain light. But we wont talk about 
that now. You have the holly-sprig, and I have 
no right to ask you to give it back to me. You 
can take it home, and I shall never see it again. 
Hurrah ! Good-bye ! " 

And he made one jump backward, behind the 
big tree, and was gone. 

Colin and Dora now hurried home, very happy, 
indeed, for no such sprig of holly had they ever 
seen as this which the dwarf had given them. It 
would look splendidly over the fire-place ! 

The two little dwarfs ran after them as fast as 
they could. 

" Where had we got to? " said one to the other, 
just as they caught up to Colin and Dora. 

" We were at ' nothing,' " said the other. 

" All right, then, we wont go back on the bar- 

Then they both ran in front of the children, and 
holding up the doll between them, they called 
out : 

" Little girl ! will you have this doll for nothing? " 

Colin and Dora stopped short. This was truly 
a most astonishing sight. 

"Look at its legs and arms," said the larger 
dwarf. " See how they wiggle ! You can make 
it sit down. Will you take it for nothing ? " 

Dora did not hesitate. 

" Yes, indeed," said she. 

Thrusting the doll into her hands, the two little 
dwarfs gave a wild shout, and rushed away, with 
the little tails which they had to their bonnets 
waving in the wind as they ran. 

The children then hurried home as fast as they 
could, and when they had told their story and 
shown their gifts, great was the surprise and de- 
light of everybody ; for no one had ever seen such 
a large-leaved and bright-berried sprig of holly as 
the one the dwarf gave Colin, or so fine a doll, 
with such remarkably wiggle-y arms and legs, as 
the one the little dwarfs gave Dora. 

" The thing that pleases me most about it all," 
said their father, " is Colin's steady refusal to 
make a rash bargain, even for a very short time. 
Colin, my boy, I think you are to be trusted." 

" Yes, indeed," said little Dora, hugging her 
doll, and looking proudly into her brother's face. 

Vol. VII. — i? 






(A Farm-house Story. ) 

By William O. Stoddard, Author of "Dab Kinzer," etc. 

Chapter VII. 

" It 'S only a good swim, Uncle Liph," Piney 
shouted, as he struck out vigorously toward the 
drifting boat that held the little ones. "I '11 push 
them ashore all right. It 's fun." 

" Piney 's comin'," laughed Chub, in great glee. 
" He 's s'immin'. See Piney s'im ! " 

" O, Roxy!" exclaimed Susie; "he wont be 
drowned, will he?" 

"Oh no," said Roxy; "Piney learned how to 
swim, ever so long ago. Before he ever went into 
the water. He wont get drowned." 

There was reason to doubt a part of that, but 
Roxy's confidence in her big brother was almost 
unbounded, and her little face grew serene and 
smiling as he came nearer and nearer. 

" O, Piney," she said, "why did n't you bring 
the oars ? Then I could have rowed the boat." 

" O," said Piney, "you can row 'most as well 
without them. Sit still. I '11 take you home safe." 

It was easy enough to turn the head of the scow 
toward the shore, and to shove it along over the 
water. Even Susie began to think it was a very 
nice bit of fun, and Chub shouted at the top of his 
voice. As for Roxy, there was a thought creeping 
into her mind as to what she should say to her 
mother and Aunt Keziah, and she did not utter a 
word till they reached the landing. 

" Here they are," said Piney, as he shoved the 
scow to place and hooked the chain to the post 
again. " I guess I 'd better put the padlock on." 

"I '11 never do it again," said Roxy. "I just 
wanted to teach Susie how to row." 

" And so you did n't take any oars," said Grand- 
father Hun.ter. 

Piney's mother had caught Chub in her arms, 
and Aunt Sarah was hugging Susie, and poor 
Roxy looked so crest-fallen that Aunt Keziah said to 
her : " Come, dear, get out of the boat. You 're a 
naughty girl, but I wont scold you. You and 
Susie may go to the garden and pick some straw- 
berries for supper. Aint you glad Piney was at 
home ?" 

" O, Aunt Keziah, Piney always comes just in 

"After all," said Uncle Liph, "it 's a good sort 
of a lesson in more ways than one. Bayard, you 
must go in swimming every day while we 're here. 
I want to see you outswim Richard." 

" He '11 never learn with his clothes on," said 
Piney, merrily. "Now, I think I '11 go and change 
mine. It 's the best kind of fun. Is n't it, Bi?" 

"Yes," said Bayard, doubtfully; "but you 're 
the wettest boy I ever saw." 

Piney hurried away into the house, to put on 
his other clothes, and Roxy's mother- scolded her 
a little before she let her and Susie go to the 
kitchen for their strawberry baskets, accompanied 
by Aunt Keziah. 

Grandfather Hunter was pretty tired, after his 
long ride, especially as he had hurried a good deal 
when he heard the outcry about the children, and 
he and Uncle Liph went and sat down on the front 
piazza. As for Aunt Sarah and Cousin Mary, they 
set out for a walk along the lake shore and carried 
Chub with them, so that Bayard was left alone. 
He stood, for a few minutes, looking at the boat. 
Then he threw a stone, as far as he could, into the 
water, and said to himself: 

" I wonder how far Cousin Richard could throw 
a stone. That is, without a sling or anything like 
that. There is n't any chance to throw stones in 
the city. No more than there is to swim." 

Then he looked all over himself, and there was 
no denying that he was a much neater-looking and 
much better dressed boy than Piney Hunter. 
Especially, considering that he was dry from head 
to foot. 

It is not easy for one boy to give up that another 
is his superior in any way, and, certainly, Bayard 
Hunter had not been used to having a small opin- 
ion of himself. 

He turned away from the shore and sauntered 
across the lawn. 

There was a boy coming along, just then, from 
the other way, and the first that Bayard knew of 
it was : 

" Hullo ! " 

" Hullo ! " said Bayard, as he turned around and 
looked at the new-comer, and he could not help 
saying to himself: 

"If Cousin Richard is too fat, this fellow 's as 
thin as a chicken. What a peaked face ! " 

" I say, are you Piney Hunter's cousin? From 
the city?" 

" Yes. My name is Bayard Hunter. Richard 
is my cousin." 

"Yes, that 's his name. Only we all call him 




Piney. Is that the kind of hat they wear in the 
city ? " 

" Well, yes, it 's my hat." 

" I guessed it was. I 'm Kyle Wilbur. I live in 
that house over yonder. Our farm joins on to Aunt 
Keziah's. Have you heard Piney speak his piece?" 

" Speak his piece?" 

" Yes, for the Academy Exhibition. If he does 
n't forget the last half of it he '11 do it up tiptop. 
Don't you wish you was as good-lookin' a feller as 
he is ? " 

" Call him good-looking?" 

" I 'd say so. I 'd give anything to weigh what 
he does. Did you see the pickerel he killed ?" 

" With his bow and arrow ? Yes, I saw that." 

"It's a big one, aint it? Tell you what, I 
helped him do that. I paddled the boat. You 
ought to have seen him go over into the water. 
But he never let go of that pickerel. He 'd have 
got away from a feller like you in a jiffy." 

" Could you have caught him ? " 

" Course I could, if I 'd have shot him and got a 
good hold on him. That 's the trouble. Piney 
always seems to get a good hold when he goes for 

" Does he ? " asked Bayard. 

" Yes, he does. How long are you and your 
folks going to stay here ? " 

" Oh, I don't know. A good while." 

" Hope you will. Piney 's just the kind of feller 
I 'd like to visit with. 'Specially if I 'd been 
brought up in the city and did n't know much. 
I '11 see you ag'in. I 'm goin' to the village, now. 
If you go after Piney's cows with him, you just 
look sharp after that brindled heifer of his'n. She 
does n't take kindly to strangers." 

And, so saying, Kyle Wilbur shut his mouth 
hard, as if to keep himself from talking any more, 
and hurried away down the road. 

Bayard laughed, and then walked toward the 
lake. Piney came there also, and before long he 
was giving his city cousin a pull in the old scow. 

"We wont forget to put the oars in," he said, 
as they pushed away from the landing. " There 
is n't anybody handy to swim out after us. It 's 
too late, or we might try for some fish. But then 
we '11 have plenty of that while you 're here." 

"Next week?" 

" Yes, and more the week after. School does n't 
close till a week from to-day. It '11 be Examina- 
tion next Friday. You know what that is, I sup- 

" Guess I do. What are you to be examined 

Piney told him, and Bi's respect for his cousin 
rose a good deal before they finished their mutual 
account of the books thev were at work on. 

Still, it was comforting to Bi to find that he was 
"ahead" in the study line. There was more of 
some things to be had, ready made, in the city 
than in the country. All of Piney's advantage was 
likely to be in the sort of things he had not learned 
at the academy. 

The supper-hour came, and the boys were back 
in time for that. So were Roxy and Susie, with 
their strawberries, and the former 'gravely re- 
marked, shortly after they were seated at the 
table : 

" O, Aunt Keziah, I 've something dreadful to 

"What is it, Roxy?" 

" It 's a hornet's nest. Only think of it ! " 

" That 's so," said Piney. " It 's in the apple- 
tree at the further end of the garden; I saw it. It 's 
a hanging nest." 

" I 'm glad they 've never stung any of you," 
said his mother. " Is it a very large one ?" 

" Pretty large. But nobody ever goes up there." 

" What will you do with them ? " asked Grandpa. 

" Let 'em alone, unless they get troublesome. I 
want to get the nest whole. It 's a splendid one." 

" I see. I see," said his grandfather. " Get it 
without breaking it and send it to me." 

" That 's what I meant to do." 

" I 'd as lief have it as a fresh pair of deer-horns, 
or almost anything else. But you must n't let them 
sting you." 

" I wont, if I can help it. But Roxy and Susie 
had better keep away from it." 

" Do you hear that, Roxy?" asked Aunt Keziah. 

" Yes, ma'am," said Roxy; "but if Piney does 
n't shoot the hornets, they wont let him have the 

" He 'd better shoot fish." said Uncle Liph, who 
was eating one of those Piney and Kyle had caught 
in the morning. "When are we to have his big 

"Oh," said Roxy, "Aunt Keziah said we were 
to have that for breakfast. Only it wont be 
enough, and we 've saved some of the little fish to 
go with it. You 're to eat the pickerel." 

" What, the whole of him ? " 

" Oh no ; his head 's been cut off " 

"And '00 mustn't eat de bones," said Chub. 
" Dey '11 toke '00." 

"Choke me, would they? Well, then, I '11 be 
careful. What are you going to do after supper, 
Richard ? " 

" Go for the cows, sir." 

" Shall I go with him, father?" asked Bayard. 

" I 'm not too tired." 

"Yes, certainly," said his father; "only be 
careful how you approach the brindled heifer that 
Roxy has been telling me about." 




" Guess I 'm not to be scared by any cow." 
proudly replied Bi, his face flushing a little. 

Chapter VIII. 

There were woods and rocks on the hill, away- 
back behind the farm-house, the barns and the 
hay-ricks. Through the barn-yard back gate and 

'• They don't do any harm in the lane," he said, 
in answer to a question of Bayard's, " but they 
are a great bother in some parts of the farm." 

" Can't you kill them out? " asked Bi. 

" They don't die easy. If you killed them all, 
this year, they 'd come up again next spring, just 
as if nothing had happened." 


up the hillside, running along the edge of the 
woods till it turned up and went over the hill, was 
a sort of lane, with a fence on each side. It led 
over the hill to a great, green pasture-lot beyond, 
sloping down to the bank of the little river that 
joined the lakes. 

It was good pasture land, as Piney told Bi, but 
there were great boulders of rock scattered here 
and there over it, and it would not have done so 
well for wheat, or corn, or potatoes. 

The sun was still more than half an hour high 
when, after supper, the two boys set out for the 
pasture. It was Piney's regular business, but it 
was all new to Bi, and he enjoyed it more than he 
would have said anything about. The long lane 
was not kept up at all like a city street. Just back 
of the barn-yard it was lined, for several rods, 
with " choke " cherry-trees. There were none of 
them very large. Hardly more than good, tall 
bushes. Beyond that, were some sumac bushes 
with their bright red ornaments. Burdocks and 
big bull-thistles grew everywhere, and Piney pointed 
out milk-weed and scoke-root and a dozen other 
plants. He seemed to know them all and what 
they were good for. 

They had been walking along past the woods 
as they talked, and had stopped a dozen times to 
look at things, but just now they were close by the 
bars leading into the pasture. Some of the cows 
were in sight, but instead of quietly feeding, they 
were beginning to move around and even to trot 
along towards the bars. 

" Co' boss ! Co' boss ! Co' boss ! " shouted Pi- 
ney, at the top of his voice, as he let down the bars. 

" Do they come when you call ? " asked Bi. 

" Patty does, and Lady Washington, and the 
rest follow. There they come. Where 's Patty ? 
There comes the old lady ; but how queerly she is 
acting ! Well, I declare ! " 

" What 's the matter ? " 

" Matter? Why, it 's Bill Young's yellow dog. 
He just loves to worry cows. I believe he 's a 
sheep-killer, too. I '11 give him a charge of buck- 
shot some day, if he does n't keep out of our past- 
ure. See him, now ! " 

Some half a dozen cows were coming rather 
hurriedly along the hill-side, towards the bars, but 
two more were coming more slowly in the rear. 

'■Come on, Bi," said Piney, as he started for- 
ward, ''Patty has turned on him. She never ran 




from a dog in her life, — nor from anything else. 
She 's my pet heifer ; I raised her from a calf. 
She '11 follow me anywhere." 

Piney did not add, as he might have done, that 
he was the only living being of her acquaintance 
to whom " the brindled heifer" did not sometimes 
show signs of her uncertain " temper." She was, 
very decidedly, not a cow to be trifled with. 

It may have been that one of the reasons why- 
Lady Washington herself, the best and most peace- 
ful of milkers, walked on so composedly, was 
because of her confidence in Patty. 

A noble-looking cow was the '•Lady." with a 
mild, motherly face and a dignified manner of 
marching, as if she knew her owner would not 
have traded her for any other four cows in the 

Piney and Bi hurried forward. 

" Hush ! " said Piney, " let 's see what he '11 do. 
He is trying to dodge past Patty." 

A big, ungainly, mongrel sort of dog was that 
of Bill Young. Nobody in the world would have 

sharp, black horns moving to and fro in a very dan- 
gerous-looking way. 

" I would n't care to have her hook me," said 

"Guess you would n't," said Piney. "That 
dog wont, either, if she gets a chance at him. 
There ! " 

" Hurrah for her ! " shouted Bi. 

The yellow dog had made a sudden jump and 
rush, as if he meant to make a charge on the other 
cows, especially the Lady, but Patty was too quick 
for him. Bi had never imagined any cow could be 
so quick as that. 

Her horns did not strike him with their points, or 
it would have been very bad for him indeed, but 
they passed under him as he jumped. 

What a toss that was ! 

The next instant the yellow dog was flying 
through the air, clean over the back of the brindled 
heifer, and he fell crashing into a clump of huckle- 
berry bushes. Perhaps he would have been worse 
hurt if the bushes had not broken his fall, but the 


given five cents for him ; but he was just the kind 
of dog to make trouble, for all that. 

He was barking furiously at the brindled heifer, 
who was facing him with her head down, and her 

moment he was on his feet he ran as if for his life, 
yelping piteously. 

Bi sent after him a stone he had picked up, but 
the dog was running too fast for even Piney to 




have made a good throw at him. Still, it helped 
Bi to express his feelings and show which side he 
was on. 

Pinej' hardly looked after the dog, but walked 
up to Patty, snying: " So, so ! Patty. You 're the 
cow for me. Come, now, stop shaking your head. 
He 's gone." 

Patty answered with a sort of subdued bellow, 
that said a good deal for her state of mind. She 
was evidently quite ready for another dog, and did 
not care a wisp of hay how soon he should come to 
be tossed. Still, she submitted to be patted and 
praised by her young master, and even allowed Bi 
himself to make her acquaintance. He certainly 
complimented her warmly, and she would have 
been a very ungrateful cow to have shaken her 
tapering horns at him. 

The brindled heifer was a much more slender and 
graceful creature than Lady Washington, but, as 
Piney explained : " Nothing like so good a milker. 
We 'd have sold her, long ago, if she had n't been 
a kind of pet." 

" Then, too," said Bi, " she 's wonderfully good 
for stray dogs." 

"Guess that dog does n't think so. I wish Bill 
Young had seen him fly. Come, Patty, the Lady 
is at the bars. The rest are half-way to the barn. 

Patty was a brisk walker, and they soon caught 
up with the others ; but nothing more happened 
until they reached the barn-yard. 

The sun was down, it would soon be dark, and 
all those cows were to be milked. 

Ann and one of the hired men were waiting to 
attend to the business, and there, too, were Roxy, 
and Susie, and Chub. 

"I wont milk, Susie," said Roxy. " I '11 stand 
with you and show you how they do it." 

" Do you ever milk the cows ? " 

" Oh, I milked one, once, but I did n't get any 

" Not a bit, did n't you ? " 

"No, not a bit. Ann said it was because that 
cow 'd been milked." 

" Does she know all about cows ? " 

" Guess she does. She 's milking our Lady 
Washington, now. That's the biggest milk-pail 
we 've got." 

" Aunt Keziah said we were to have all we 
wanted, when they brought it in." 

" Just as much as we can drink. You don't have 

" No, in a wagon. He comes early in the morn- 
ning, before we 're up." 

any cows. 


you i 

"No, but the milkman comes. 1 
" Does he bring it in a pail ? " 

"Is it real milk?" 

" Yes, father says so. That is, he said he 
guessed there was milk in it." 

"Ours is real milk; 'cause we 've got the real 
cows. They 're all real." 

So they were, but the hired man was trying to 
get Patty to stand still for him, just then, and was 
not succeeding any too well. At last the brindled 
heifer quieted her angry mind a little, and the pail 
was filling rapidly when Roxy said to Susie: 

" That 's Piney's pet heifer. She does anything 
he wants. She likes me, too. Just see me speak 
to her." 

Roxy tripped forward and put her little hand on 
the heifer's neck, saying : 

" Pretty Patty. Good cow. Nice cow." 

But Patty not only shook her head in an unpleas- 
ant sort of way, she struck out vigorously with her 
hind feet. 

Before Roxy could jump back and scream, the 
hired man was rolling on the ground with a shower 
of new milk flying all over him. Patty had given 
the milk-stool one kick and the pail another; but 
nobody was hurt. 

" Did she take him for a dog ? " asked Bi. 

"Guess not," said Piney. "I ought to have 
milked her, to-night. Sometimes she wont stand 
still for anybody else." 

"Oh, Roxy," exclaimed Susie, "are you 

"Not a bit," said Roxy, "but she's kicked 
over the milk." 

" It 's your fault," said Ann. " If you 'd have 
let her alone she 'd never have stirred." 

" I just touched her." 

"Come, Roxy," said Piney, "you and Susie 
and Chub had better come in with Bi and me." 

" What for, Piney? " 

"Oh, it 's time. Besides, we can't have any 
more pails kicked over. The cows are cross to- 

" Do take 'em in," said Ann. 

"Yes, Roxy," said S.usie. "I don't like their 
horns a bit." 

Chub had kept very still, ever since he came 
into the barn-yard. He had seen the cows milked 
before, and not only was he tired, but he knew 
that the best part of the whole business, the milk 
drinking, would come to pass in the house. 

" New milk is good, that 's a fact," remarked 
Bayard Hunter, less than half an hour later. 

(T0 be continued. ) 



By Daniel C. Beard. 

No season of the year can boast of more healthy 
out-door games, brimful of fun and excitement 
than winter, and there is no sport among winter 


games more exciting and amusing than snow-ball 

All the boys must join in building the fort, se- 
lecting the highest point of the play-grounds, or, 
if the grounds are level, the corner of a wall or 
fence. Supposing the top of a mound has been 
selected, as the place where the works are to be 


built, the first thing to do is to make out the plan 
of the foundations. The dimensions depend upon 
the number of boys. A circle, twelve feet in diam- 
eter, or a square with sides often feet, will make a 
fort that will accommodate a company often boys. 
It is better to have the fort too small than too 
large. The chief engineer must set his men at 
work rolling large snow-balls, the smaller boys can 
commence and the larger ones take them in hand 
when the balls have gained in size and become too 
heavy for the younger boys. 

Make these balls of snow as large and dense as 
possible, then roll them in place upon the lines 
traced out for the foundation. We will suppose it 
to be a square. In this case, care must be taken 
to have the corners of the square opposite the most 
probable approach of the enemy. This will leave 


the smallest point possible exposed to the attack, 
and the inmates of the fort can, without crowding 
each other, take good aim at the foe. After the 
four sides of the square are covered by large snow- 
balls, as in Figure 7, all hands must pack the 
snow about the bottom, and fill up each crack and 
crevice, until a solid wall is formed. Then with 
spades and shovels the walls should be trimmed 


down to a perpendicular on the inside, but slanting 
upon the outside, as shown in the last picture. The 
top of the wall may be two feet broad and the base 
four feet. When the wall is finished, prepare a 
mound of snow in the center of the square for the 
flag-staff. This mound will be very useful, as a 
reserve supply in case the ammunition gives out. 
A quantity of snow-balls should next be piled up, 


inside the walls, at the four corners. This done, 
the fort is ready for its defenders, and it only re- 
mains to equip the attacking force. 





The building of a fort generally uses up all the 
snow around it, making it necessary for the besieg- 
ing party to carry their ammunition with them, 
upon sleds made for that purpose. 

The construction of these sleds is very simple, 
the material and tools necessary consisting of a 
flour-barrel, a saw, a hammer or hatchet, some 
shingle nails and an old pine-board. 

To make the sled, begin by knocking the barrel 
apart, being careful not to split the head-boards, 
as they will be needed afterward. Pick out the 
four best staves, as nearly alike in breadth and 
curve as can be found, and saw two or three of the 
other staves in halves. Take two of the four staves 
first selected, and nail the half staves across, as 
shown in Figure 2. These must be nailed upon 
the convex, or outside, of the staves, and this will 
be found impossible unless there is something solid 
under the point where the nail is to be driven, 
otherwise, the spring of the stave, when struck, 
will throw the nail out, and your fingers will prob- 
ably receive the blow from the hammer. To avoid 
this, place a block, or anything that is firm, under 



the point where the nail is to be driven (see Figure 
1), and there will then be found no difficulty in driv- 
ing the nails home. When this is done, youwillhave 
the top of your sled as shown in Figure 2 ; on this 

you will need a box, or bed, to hold the snow-balls ; 
this you can make of two pieces of pine-board 
and two staves, thus : Take a board about the 
same width as, or a little wider than, a barrel-stave, 
saw off two pieces equal in length to the width of 
the sled, set them upon their edges, reversing the 
top of the sled, place it across the two boards, as 
in Figure 3, and nail it on securely. Then 
take two staves and nail them on for side boards, 
and you have the top portion of your sled fin- 
ished, as in Figure 4. 

The two staves remaining, of the four first 
selected, are for runners. Fit on first one and then 


the other to the staves of your top. Nail-holes 
will probably be found near the ends of the staves 
where the nails were that held the barrel-head in ; 
through these drive nails, to fasten your runners; 
to do this you must rest them upon some sup- 
port, as was done before ; this will hold your sled 
together, but to make it stronger, take four blocks 
of wood and slide them in between the runners and 
the top, as shown in Figure 5, and nail these firmly 
in place, from above and below. 

If all this has been properly done, you now have 
made a sled which it will be almost impossible 




to break ; and you need but a rope to pull by. 
One boy can haul snow-balls enough for a dozen 

The shield is made from the head of a barrel. 
Lay the barrel-head upon some level surface, so 
that nails can be driven in without trouble. 

From a strip of board, half inch thick and two 
and one-half inches wide, saw off two pieces long 

These officers, after being elected and appointed, 
are to give all orders, and should be promptly 
obeyed by their respective commands. The cap- 
tains decide, by lot, the choice of position. 

In choosing sides, the commander of the fort has 
first choice, then the two captains name a boy, 
alternately, until two-thirds of the boys have been 
chosen. The defenders of the fort then retire to 


enough to fasten the parts of the barrel-head to- 
gether, as you see them in Figure 6. Fasten 
these strips on firmly with shingle nails. 

Lay your left arm upon the shield, as shown, 
mark a place for the arm-strap, just in front of 
elbow, and another for the strap for the hand. 
From an old trunk-strap, or suitable piece of 
leather, cut two strips, and nail them on your 
shield at points marked, being careful that the 
arm-strap is not too tight, as it should be loose 
enough for the arm to slip in and out with ease. 
This done, you have a shield behind which you 
may defy an army of unprotected boys. 

The rules of warfare governing a snow-ball battle 
are as follows : 

Two commanders, or captains, must be elected. 
If the forces engaged are very large, each captain 
may appoint one or two assistants, or lieutenants. 

their stronghold, leaving the boys unchosen to join 
the attacking army, it being supposed that one- 
third behind fortifications are equal to two-thirds 

Only the attacking party are allowed shields and 
ammunition sleds. 

At least thirty yards from the fort, a camp must 
be established by the outsiders or attacking army, 
and stakes driven at the four corners to locate the 
camp. Imaginary lines from stake to stake mark 
its limits. 

The colors of the attacking army are erected in 
the center of this camp. 

Each party will have its national colors, in addi- 
tion to which the attacking party have a battle- 
flag which they carry with them in the assault. 

The defenders of the fort must see to it that all 
damages to the fortifications are promptly repaired. 



| January, 


Any soldier from the fort who shall be carried 
off within the limits of the camp, becomes a prisoner 
of war, and cannot leave the camp until rescued by 
his own comrades. 

Any one of the attacking force pulled into the 
fort becomes a prisoner of war, and must remain 
in the fort until it is captured. 

Prisoners of war cannot be made to fight against 
their own side, but they may be employed in mak- 
ing snow-balls or repairing damages to fortifica- 

Any deserter recaptured must suffer the penalty 
of having his face washed with snow, and being set 
at work with the prisoners of war. 

When the outsiders, or attacking army, can 
replace the enemy's colors with their battle flag, 
the fort is captured, the battle is won by the 

attacking party, and all fighting must immediately 

But if, in a sally, the soldiers of the fort can 
by any means take the colors of the opposite 
party from the camp and bring them inside their 
fortifications, they have not only successfully de- 
fended their fort, but have defeated the attacking 
army ; and this ends the battle, with double honors 
to the brave defenders. 

No water-soaked or icy snow-balls are allowed. 
No honorable boy uses them, and any one caught 
in the ungentlemanly act of throwing such 
"soakers," should be forever ruled out of the 

No blows are allowed to be struck by the hand, 
or by anything but the regulation snow-ball, and, 
of course, no kicking is permitted. 






By John V. Sears. 


In producing this piece, special attention should be paid to the choruses and the tableaux. The choruses should be given with a swinging 
cadence strongly marked, even to a little sing-song fault. This will keep the voices well together and make study easier. Two parts 
will suthce, but soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, will be better. Uncles and aunts behind the scenes can lend judicious aid in the singing. An 
orchestra of, say, four stringed instruments, is desirable, but a piano will do very well. The tableaux will need careful rehearsal, the mana- 
ger playing the part of audience. Pose each about half a minute. Group the smaller children in front, the taller toward the back of stage. 

For most important scenic effects, depend on draperies, curtains, fable-covers, shawls, dress-stuffs, etc., deep and rich in color. For the 
cradle and the princess's couch, use white draperies, cotton or linen, with broad borders of vines and scrolls, cut from gilt paper and pasted 
on. For stage, drop-curtain, etc., see books on Parlor Theatricals. The roof and rafters of the garret may be represented by sheets of dark 
hardware paper pasted together and stretched tent-wise across a ridge-pole, extending from front to back of stage. For thrones, use large 
chairs, throwing draperies over seats and arms. Round-topped, gilt mirror flames, with cloth tacked across the openings, can be used for the 
backs. Over these hang a canopy, formed of curtains or piano-covers. The thrones should be on a platform, with two steps, covered with 
rich rugs. 

Where costumes are provided from home wardrobes, court-mantles may be the main feature for both lords and ladies. The skirts of 
evening silk dresses, not put on over the head but thrown across the shoulders, will answer this purpose. Fasten the belt, doubled, around 
the neck and cover it with a large collar or a ruff cut from tissue-paper. The royal mantles, trim with bands of ermine, made of cotton 
batting with spots of black. The ladies will want trains, — the longer the better. The lords should wear long hose and straight swords, the 
latter made from sticks, covered with gilt or black paper. The fairy train should be dressed in white, with wands and crowns of silver, and 
wings of white tissue-paper pasted on whalebone frames. Distinguish Titania by wings, crown and wand of gold. Malicina's dress should 
be scarlet, including shoes and gloves. Her wand, crown, and wings, should also be scarlet, the latter erect and pointed, made from glazed 
paper. Prince Charming should be in gorgeous array, consisting of velvet doublet, short cloak, trunks, embroidered hose, plumed cap and 
rapier. This part may be played by a girl. A bright, wee girl can also play baby Arabella, if sure not to cry at the wrong time : otherwise, 
assign this part to a large doll. 

Any one with musical tact can adapt pretty airs for the voices, and arrange suitable accompaniments; but, if desired, the full score of the 
operetta can be had, at the cost of copying, by addressing the author, No. 304 Chestnut street, Philadelphia. 


The Royal Court of Dream-land. 

Somnolenicus, King of Dream-land. 
Dormina, Queen of " " 

Princess Arabella, an infant. Subsequently a maid of eighteen 

Chamberlain, Courtiers, Pages, Heralds, etc. 
Prince Charming. 
Tabitha, a venerable dame. 
Titania, Queen of the Fairies. 
Elfinella, ] 

Lucina, > The Fairy Train. 

Violetta, J 
Malicina, The Wicked Fairy. 

Act I. 


[Throne-room in Royal Palace of Dream-land. King and Queen 
seated, center. Courtiers, Lords, and Ladies grouped right and 
left. Heralds and Pages on steps of throne. Grand Chamberlain 
right, front of throne.] 

Chorus, [Courtiers.] 
All hail the King, 
Whose praise we sing, 
All hail, and hail again, 
Long may he live 
Our land to give 
A peaceful, happy reign. 
We gladly meet 
Our King to greet 
And wait upon his will ; 
From far and near 
We gather here, 
His mandates to fulfill. 

King [rising and bowing — recitative]. 
Most loyal subjects, kind and true, 

Assembling near the throne, 
Our royal Chamberlain to you 
Will make our pleasure known. 

[Heralds sound trumpets.] 
CHAMBERLAIN [advancing — recitative. ] 
Nobles of Dream-land, pillars of the State, 
Hear ye the message of our mighty King. 

[Reads from large scroll.] 
With joy we give the tidings ye await, 
With joy receive the happy news we bring. 
The fairies who attend the fortunes of our Queen 
Have brought a princess to our consort fair, 
A lovely babe, the sweetest ever seen, 
To be our comfort and the kingdom's heir. 

Chorus, [Courtiers.] 
All hail our Queen, 
The best e'er seen, 
All hail, all hail, all hail ! 
' The fairies have brought her 
A beautiful daughter, 
All hail, all hail, all hail ! 

QUEEN [rising and bowing — recitative] . 
No babe so beauteous e'er before was seen ; 
Her voice is gentle as a cooing dove, 
Her eyes are blue, her hair of golden sheen ; 
Her winning smile will captivate your love. 

Chorus, [Courtiers.] 
May happy fate 
Attend her state, 
All hail, all hail, all hail ! 
With heart and voice 




Let all rejoice, 

All hail, all hail, all hail! 

King [recitative] . 
Our loyal friends, it is with pleasure 
We listen to your wishes kind; 
We seek a name for the little treasure, 
And ask you each to speak your mind. 
Each give a name, that it may prove 
A bond with each of faithful love. 

By name herewith, forever and a day, 
As follows, to wit, that is to say : 
Arabella, Bertina, Luella, 
Carolina, Amina, Corella. 

Chorus [Courtiers]. 

Our princess hail ! 

No fairy-tale 

Is told of one more dear. 

The name we give 


First Lady. 
I offer Arabella. 

First Lord. 

I speak for Bertina. 

Second Lady. 

I tender Luella. 

Second Lord. 
Pray call her Amina. 

Third Lady. 

I prefer Carolina. 

Third Lord. 

And I Corella. 

That 's a plenty ; I am sure 
She can't another name endure. 
Our Chamberlain will now proclaim 
Our little baby daughter's name. 

By proclamation from the throne, 
The royal Princess shall be known 

In fame shall live 

For many and many a vear. 

King [recitative]. 

A splendid feast we do proclaim 
Upon the christening day. 
In honor of our daughter's name. 
Let all attend who may. 

Chorus [Courtiers]. 
A feast ! A feast ! 
With joy increased 
We hear and will obey : 
Let every courtier 
Come, and bring 
A gift to grace the day. 

King [recitative]. 

And furthermore we do ordain 

The fairies' favor to obtain, 

That Queen Titania and her train 

Shall be our guests. 

Sir Chamberlain ! 

Attend to these behests. 




Chamberlain [bowing to King]. 

Each kindly fairy in the land 
Shall duly be invited ; 
And with your majesty's command, 
Will doubtless be delighted. 

Chorus [Courtiers]. 

The fairies hail ! 

They will not fail 

To come with pride and pleasure. 

And from all harms, 

Their magic charms 

Will guard our little treasure. 



[State Chamber. Canopied cradle with infant Princess, right front. 
King and Queen center. Courtiers and Fairies, left front.] 

CHORUS [Fairies and Courtiers]. 
Happy the day 
Hastens away 
Blithely and merrily, 
Lightly and cheerily. 
Laughing and joyous 
Pleasures employ us; 
Naught can annoy us, 
Happy the day. 

[Fairies cross stage to cradle. ] 

Semi-Chorus [Courtiers]. 
Fairies from Elf-land 
Welcome to Dream-land, 
This to our Princess 
Fortune evinces ; 
Your gracious bearing 
Our pleasures sharing 
Favor declaring. 
Happy this day ! 

Semi-Chorus [Fairies]. 
Mortals of Dream-land 
Friendly ye seem, and 
Happiness is it 
With ye to visit. 
Kindly your greeting, 
Pleasant our meeting, 
Joyous though fleeting 
This happy day. 

KING [recitative]. 
Fairy Titania, Queen of the Elves, 
And you, our fairy-guests, 
Thanks, for the honor to our royal selves, 
Your presence here your friendly will attests, 
In behalf of our baby Princess, too, 
Our warm acknowledgements are due. 

Queen Dormina. 
We seek your favor for our child 
And beg you to watch over her, 
To make her gentle, sweet, and mild, 
And let no harm discover her. 

Semi-Chorus [Fairies]. 
Your majesties have been most kind, 
We are not ungrateful you shall find. 
To your royal court we brought her 
And we will guard your baby daughter. 

Titania [recitative] . 
If your majesties approve 
We will leave with Arabelle 
Each in token of our love, 
A charmed gift, as our farewell. 
Let each fairy come and show 
The choicest gift she can bestow. 
[Advances and waves her wand oz'er the cradle.] 
I, Titania, your queen, 
Will confer a gracious mien : 
A dignified and sweet address 
Arabella shall possess. 

[The fairies in turn advance and wave their wands over the cradle.] 

I am the fairy Elfinella, 
And 1 will give to Arabella 
The gift of beauty. In form and feature 
She shall be the loveliest creature 
That ever in the world was known, 
As heiress to the Dream-land throne. 

I will to our charge impart 
A faithful, true, and loving heart. 
It is a precious gift I ween 
From the fairy Rosaline. 

Lucina, daughter of the light, 
I will give our baby bright 
A brilliant mind and mother-wit, — 
Endowments for a princess fit. 

I am Melodia, child of the air, 
The Princess's voice shall be my care. 
Low and clear shall its tones be heard, 
Soft and sweet, as the song of a bird. 
All shall listen when she speaks, 
And none deny whate'er she seeks. 


Violetta me they call ; 

My gift shall be the best of all. 




Modesty, the grace of maids, 
Beautiful when beauty fades, 
Arabella shall possess, 
In meek and gentle lowliness. 

[Flourish of wild discordant music. All are startled. Baby cries. 
Enter Malicina.] 


Mighty fine, upon my word ! 
Perhaps of me you never heard. 
A fairy feast is here, I 'in told, 
And all my sisters I behold. 
Every fay has been invited, 
Except myself! I have been slighted ! 

Malicina, dreadful sprite, 
Why hast thou returned to light ? 
Hie thee back to thy lone cell ; 
Work not here thy wicked spell. 

Malicina [to Titania]. 
In thy absence I have gained 
Liberty, and power obtained ; 
For to-day my wand is strong 
Over all who do me wrong. 

King [to Chamberlain}. 
Sir Chamberlain, 't is your defect 
Has been the cause of this neglect. 
Answer, how has this arisen ? 

Sire, Malicina 's been in prison 
So long, I 

MALICINA \to Chamberlain]. 
Silence, slave ! 

[ Turns to King. ] 
Your Somnolence, 
I hold you bound for this offense : 
Yours is the fault, and yours shall be 
The burden of the penalty. 
King as you are, I '11 teach you how 
To treat a fairy. Hear my vow ! 
This puling chick shall never live 
To know the gifts my sisters give. 
Beware the day she learns to spin, 
For then shall my revenge begin. 
Upon the flax my charm shall lie, 
And by the spindle she shall die ! 

Queen Dormina. 
Oh, Titania, save thy ward ! 
Break the charm, or turn it toward 
The mother. This I crave : 
Let me die ; the Princess save. 

We cannot break this hateful charm, 

But we can turn aside its harm. 
The child shall live ; but yet your tears 
Must fall for her. A hundred years 
Under the spell she must remain, 
Sleeping till we can wake her again. 

King, and Queen Dormina. 
A hundred years ! Oh, sad, sad fate ! 
Long ere then our court and state 
May pass and fade. 
When she wakes, our little maid, 
Strange among a host of strangers, 
Still must meet a thousand dangers. 

Guard her well and keep her fast 
Until maidenhood is past. 
Let her never see a wheel ; 
Flax and yarn from her conceal. 
Let no spindle reach her hand, 
Though you burn all in the land. 
But when, after all your care, 
Fate descends, then straight repair 
Unto her chamber, where we '11 spread 
A fairy charm about her bed. 
A hundred years she there must sleep, 
The while a fairy watch we '11 keep. 
Then a prince shall come and wake her, 
And to fairer fortune take her. 


[Titania and Malicina cross wands over the cradle : M. in threaten- 
ing, and T. in a protecting, attitude. ] 


A period of eighteen years is supposed to have elapsed. 
[Scene : a garret, poorly furnished. Dame Tabitha discovered 

Dame T. [singing]. 
Lone is my labor, Spinning 's forbidden, 
Spinsters are banished. 
Spindles are hidden, 
Wheels have all vanished. 

I am forgot. 
Never a neighbor 
Cheering my lot. 
Working alway in 
This bare old garret 

My poor old wheel ! 

Day out and day in, In secret I turn it. 
No one to share it. Should you reveal 

Within the borders 
Of all the land, 
By royal orders, 
This the command : 

It, soon would they burn it. 
No one comes near me ; 
Even in pain 
No one can hear me 
When I complain. 

[Enter Princess Arabella, a beautiful maiden of eighteen ; panto- 
mime of mutual surprise.] 

Dame T. [recitative]. 

Good-morrow to you, my pretty dear ! 

Who may you be, and how came you here ? 



How I came I do not know, 
For I have lost my way. 
I am the Princess Arabella ; 
And now, where am I, pray? 
And what is that curious-looking wheel ? 
And that turning thing in your hand? 

[ Takes up the flax. ] 
How soft this woolly stuff does feel ! 
What is it ? I would understand. 

Dame T. 
This is flax, my pretty girl, 
And I am spinning my thread. 
I give my spindle a twist and a twirl, 
And wind it up on the head. 

Oh, is n't that nice ? 
Let me try now. 
I think I can if you show me how. 

[She takes spindle, twirls it, wounds her hand, and falls, left. Ta- 
bitha screams. Enter Malicina, center ; waves wand over A. in 
triumph. Enter King, Queen, and Courtiers, right. Consternation 
and distress. ] 



[Princess's chamber ; Arabella reclining on couch, center. Titania 
and her fairies grouped about couch. King, Queen, and Cham- 
berlain right ; Courtiers left. J 

KING [recitative — very sadly] . 
Sleep, my gentle daughter, sleep ; 
Fairies near their watch shall keep, 
Shielding thee from harm and fears, 
Till time shall count a hundred years. 

Queen D. [weeping-]. 
May thy slumber only seem 
One unbroken, happy dream ; 
Till thy destined Prince shall wake thee 
And to fairer fortune take thee. 

Chorus, [Fairies and Courtiers]. 

Sleep, Princess, sleep ; Thy lovely eyes 

Sweetly repose ! 

Nor sigh nor weep, 

But softly close 


Lest the Princess should be lonely 
Lest she wake 'midst strangers only, 
I will charm her loving friends, 
And bid them sleep till her slumber ends. 

[Touches each in turn with wand, inclnding King and Queen, and 
they fall asleep.] 

CURTAIN [to plaintive music]. 

In slumbers deep ; 
Time swiftly flies ; 
Sleep, Princess, sleep ! 


Act V. 

A hundred years supposed to have elapsed. 
[Princess and attendants discovered as at close of last scene. Tab- 
leau, to low but cheerful music. Enter fairies.] 

Chorus [Fairies]. 

A hundred years have passed away, 

And still our watch we keep, 
But now has come the happy day 

To wake our charge from sleep. 

The promised Prince is drawing near 

To learn his earthly bliss. 
Come, welcome Prince, appear, appear ! 

And wake her with a kiss. 
[Fairies beckon with wands. Enter Prince. ] 

Prince [recitative]. 
All fast asleep! how strange it seems 
To find a court in the land of dreams. 
Music, sweeter than words can say, 
Hath guided me upon my way. 
A royal court here greets my view, 
And oh, what a lovely Princess, too ! 
Now, ere this beauteous maid awake, 
A stolen kiss I '11 boldly take. 

[He approaches couch, kisses Princess, who awakes. Attendants 
wake and rise.] 

Oh, charming Prince ! I was dreaming of you ! 
And am I awake ? and is it true ? 


You, in dreams, I oft behold, 
As my promised bride to be. 

My 'fairy godmother foretold 

That you, dear maid, awaited me. 

Pray, arise, my Princess sweet, 

Our fairer fortune let us seek. 

[He gives his hand, and Princess arises. King and Queen awaken 
and embrace Princess, who presents to them the Prince.] 

CHORUS [attendants]. 

Hail Prince and Princess fair ! 
Joy and gladness may you share. 
Peace and plenty fill your days, 
Health and hope attend your ways. 
Fairies kept our Princess' sleep, 
May they still their watches keep. 
May he be brave, and she be good, 
The Sleeping Beauty in the wood. 


[Prince and Princess center. Fairies right. Attendants 
behind the King and Queen, left.] 


272 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [Januaev, 


Trot, Dot, and Bunny lived in a large town. Trot was a nice boy, 
only five years old, and Dot was just the dearest little girl in the world. 
She was nearly four ; as for Bunny, she was only two years old. 

Papa sometimes put the children to bed, when he was tired studying, 
so that mamma could rest, or patch Trot's trowsers, which she generally 
did, instead of resting. When papa put the children to bed, he always told 
them a story. Just one story, that was all he knew ; but as it was the 
only one the children cared to hear, it did not so much matter about his 
not knowing any others. And this was the way the story began : 

" Some time, when papa gets enough money, he is going to buy a 

"A cow named Star, papa," says Trot. "'Es, cow named 'Tar, papa," 
Bunny would echo. " With a white 'pot in her fowad," Dot would always 
add. Then papa would go on : " Yes, a nice cow, with a white spot in 
her forehead, and we will name her Star." 

"And a little calf-fy," says Bunny. 

"Named Forget-me-not," says Trot; " so we won't 'forget to feed her." 

"I '11 give her some gwass, I will," says Dot, "dear little bossy calf." 
"Well," says papa, "we will call the calf Forget-me-not, so we wont 
forget to feed her. Then Trot will pull down some hay for the cow, and 
I will make her a nice bran-mash, and while she 's eating it I '11 milk." 

" No ; I '11 milk her, papa," says Trot. 

" No ; I milk ! " cries Dot. 

" Me milk," says little Bunny. 

" Yes, we all will milk her, I guess," says papa, and mamma laughs. 

" Then, when we are all done milking, we will come in to break- 
fast, and Trot and Dot and Bunny shall have some nice new milk, and 
mamma and I will have some nice cream for our coffee. After break- 
fast, I will say : ' Come Trot, and Dot, and Bunny, you must take the 
cow to the pasture.' So Trot will get his hat, and Dot and Bunny will get 
their bonnets, and you each will get a long stick to drive the cow with. 
I will open the gate, and start the cow, and you all will follow, driving her." 

" Go 'long," says Trot. 

"No, I '11 drive," says Dot. 

" Me drive," says Bunny. 

"Yes," says papa, "you all will drive her. And by and by, as the 




old cow goes walking quietly along, Trot will stop to see how far he can 
throw a stone." 

" I stop to pick daisies," says Dot. " I 'top to get a drink," says 
Bunny. "I want some water," says Trot. "I want some, too," says 
Dot. " Me want drink," says little Bunny. 

So papa gets the large tin dipper full of water, and the thirsty little 
ones take a drink all round, and then papa goes on with his story : 

"When the old cow casts one eye round, and finds that you all have 
stopped, she will think it just as well to stop a little herself, and gather 
a mouthful of the sweet green grass that grows by the roadside ; and 

there she will stay till Bunny takes up her stick and touches her gently 
on her leg, and says : ' Go 'ong, 'Tar.' 

" Star moves on. By and by they come to the brook. Trot finds such 
splendid pebbles there, that he stops again to throw stones. Dot and 
Bunny sail little sticks, and Star stops to take a drink of the cool, clear 

" Me want dink," says Bunny, half asleep. 

" I want a drink, too," says Trot, sitting up in bed. 

" I defful firsty," says Dot. 

Papa passes round the tin dipper again, and then three little heads 
sink back on the pillows, and Trot, Dot, and Bunny are asleep. 
Vol. VII.— iq. 





Oh, now, here comes a hopeful-looking young 
chap, Eighteen Hundred and Eighty hy name; 
but why in the world he must needs come skipping 
in among us, is more than your Jack knows. For 
my part, I was well enough pleased with Eighteen 
Hundred and Seventy-nine, and I should n't mind 
if we could have the jolly old fellow keep right 
along. However, that would n't satisfy you young- 
sters, I suppose ; so, when this gallant New Year 
comes your way, give him Jack's best compliments, 
and say that, if he expects to do better than our 
old friend who is leaving us, he will have to behave 
himself, and keep us all very particularly pleasant 
and busy. 

Let 's set him a good example, my dears, and 
get to work at once. Here 's something about 


I have heard of a bed of wax about twenty feet 
thick, and stretching underground sixty miles one 
way and twenty miles the other ! Ah, you may 
well open your eyes ! 

But, if you go to Southern Utah, you will be 
able to see it there for yourself, — and almost see 
through it besides, for I 'm told that, while the wax 
is black in the lump, light shines through thin slices 
of it. There is another place, Galicia in Spain, 
where rock-wax is found. It is a sort of paraffine. 
if you can find out what that is, and at one time 
must have formed part of vast underground stores 
of rock-oil, or petroleum, which, having disap- 
peared, left the waxy deposit behind. Perhaps 
some day you will meet a man who has studied the 
subject of mineral wax, and can tell you all about 
these beds. 


YOUR Jack has told you already about the won- 
derful weeping Miningo-tree, which in the sunniest 

weather sheds tears. But now comes information vet 
more startling, concerning the famous Washington 
Elm at Cambridge, Massachusetts. The tree, in 
high June, used to have about two hundred thou- 
sand square feet of surface on its leaves, and, 
besides, it had the habit of breathing out, during 
twelve hours; every clear day, nearly eight tons in 
weight of watery vapor ! 

All plants breathe out more or less vapor, I 'm 
told, and that is why people keep them in rooms 
that are heated by stoves or hot-air furnaces. 
When well watered, the plants breathe out the 
water again, in the form of unseen vapor, and this 
helps to keep the air in a room from becoming too 
dry to be wholesome. 

So, you see, my dears, it will pay you to give 
my relatives a cordial welcome to your warm 
homes, and to treat well those you persuade to 
visit you for the winter. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pilpit : I remember reading in the April St. 
Nicholas uf last year, about Puritan little boys in the old times, and 
how they carried small stoves to church for their mothers and sisters 
to keep their feet warm with through the long service. But I have 
just been told that ages before the days of the Puritans, the Chinese 
had foot-stoves, and, what is more, hand-stoves; and that they have 
them even now! 'i hey are small earthenware things with oil and 
wicks, like lamps. 

No Chinaman in his native land ever thinks of setting up a stove 
in the house merely to warm himself and his family ; but, during cold 
weather, both Chinamen and Chinawomen, who are well off, carry 
their tiny oil-stoves about with them, in their sleeves, just to keep 
their hands comfortable ! Why, it must be dangerous ! — Your faith- 
ful reader, R. J. M. 


Ho, girls ! What do you think the dear Little 
Schoolma'am says? Why, that a kind of shell-fish 
found in the Mediterranean Sea, — a mussel, — 
contains in each shell a little hank of stringy stuff 
that glistens like golden yellow or olive-brown silk! 
That is, after combing and washing, it looks so ; 
but at first it is dirty and muddy and covered with 
odds and ends of dead sea-weed. 

This sea-silk can be made into stockings, gloves, 
and neckties, and even into the finest lace. 

I wonder if your Jack could have a coat of it to 
wear when the fairies dance about him on moon- 
light nights ? 


My Dear Jack : What you said in Decemberabout " The Coldest 
Cold," makes me want to tell you what I have just been reading: A 
Hungarian chemist named, Dr Sawiczevosky, subjected fresh meat 
to a degree of cold which completely cooked it, and then he sealed it 
in air-tight cans. When taken out some time after, the meat looked 
delicious, — just the thing for a " cold collation " — and was as good to 
eat as if it had been cooked in the ordinary way by heat. 

Already, there is in Hungary a factory where meat is cooked and 
canned according to Dr. Sawiczevosky's cold process. I don't know 
if his terrible name helps the process at all, but I have heard of even 
live people being frozen with terror at sounds less dreadful. — Yours 
truly, J. A. 


Of course you have all heard of the walking- 
matches in England and New York. And many 
of you boys, no doubt, have been trying your legs, 
too, and the champion walkers among you are 
looked upon as amazing fellows. 

But I know of a little insect that beats all the 




walking or running ever done by mortal man or 
boy. Even the "Seven-League Boots" would 
have been left behind in a match with this wonder- 
ful pedestrian. 

It is a small fly, about as large as a grain of 
sand; and it runs three inches' in half a second; 
and, in that space, makes five hundred and forty 
steps. If a man were able to walk as fast in pro- 
portion to his size ; supposing his step to measure 
two feet: he would run in one minute, more than 
twenty miles, — twenty times as fast as the fastest 
railroad train. Think oithat, my dears! 

Then, as to leaping ; why, many of you have 
heard of Sam Patch and his wonderful feats, — how 
he jumped down a waterfall, and off a church 
tower, — but think of standing down on the ground, 
near the Custom-House in New-York city, leaping 
right over Trinity church spire. and landing two 
blocks the other side, — about four hundred yards 
in all ! That is how a man could jump, if he were 
as good in leaping as fleas or locusts. They jump 
two hundred times their own length. 

I 'm a hungry, hard-shell turtaloo, 
And I 'm going to eat you up !" 

"Oh, ha!" said the other, with courage 
meet, — 

The long-legged gungaboo, — 
" Let 's see you stand on your two hind feet !" 

And then he swallowed the turtaloo. 


H. J. F. reports: "The Eskimos have curious 
spectacles with which they save their eyes from 
the ' snow-blindness ' that is caused by the dazzling 
sunlight reflected upward from the snow. Each 
pair of these spectacles is made of two bits of thin 
wood or ivory, shaped to cover the eyes. Length- 
wise in each piece, a very narrow slit is cut, as long 
as the eye, but not all the way across from side to 
side. The pieces are joined over the nose, and are 
kept in place by strings tied at the back of the 

"These eye-savers are of use also in the place 



Here is a bit of verse, with a lesson in it, which 
my boys may find or not, just as they please. 

Oh, the gungaboo and the turtaloo 

Met on a lonely shore ! 
Said the turtaloo to the gungaboo: 

" This coast I would fain explore. 
And 1 really must say that for something new, 

You beat the bugs, fluffy gungaboo ! 
Now, draw in your head and legs, oh, do ! 

For my time has come to sup, 

of spy-glasses, and, after a little practice, a man 
can see to a very great distance with them." 

Some of this wisdom from the ends of the earth, 
you may be able to turn to use, my dears, even 
although you have fully made up your minds not 
to go in search of the North Pole this winter. 


The Deacon sends his hearty good wishes, my 
youngsters; and he says : " All the presents that 
were not given at Christmas ought to be given on 
New Year's day ; so as to start the year well." 







To cut the orange, make two parallel cuts, through the skin only, 
leaving a continuous band about an inch wide round the body of the 
orange. Remove the rest of the peel. Cut through the band once, just 
over one of the natural divisions, and gently force the whole open, 
and out, as in the illustration, leaving each section detached from the 
others, but still fast to the band of peel. 

The apple is cut by setting the blade of a narrow, sharp-pointed 
knife in the oblique position of the intended cut, and pushing it, point 
first, directly to the core. When all the cuts are so made, the apple 
will come apart in the above curious manner. Care must be taken 
not to let the knife slip through the apple, into the hand. 

Here is a good though not a new way to cut an apple so that it will 
look whole and unmarked while in the dish, but, when pared, will 
fell to pieces without being cut with a knife : 

Take a fine needle and a thin strong thread; insert the needle at 

the stem of the apple in such a way that the point will come out 
again away from the stem and a short distance from the first inser- 
tion ; pull the needle and thread through very carefully, so as not 
to break the skin or enlarge the holes, leaving a few inches of thread 
hanging at the stem. Then put the needle back into the second hole, 
thrust it in the same direction as before, bringing out the point still 
farther from the stem, and again pull the thread through. Go on in 
this way straight around the apple, and, when the thread comes out 
at the stem, pull it by both ends very carefully, until it has cut en- 
tirely through, and comes out of the apple. If pared now, the fruit 
would fall in halves; but, by working the thread round under 
the skin as before, at right angles to the first cut, and again pull- 
ins the thread quite through at the stem, the apple will fall into 

After a little prac'ice, the cutting can be done so skillfully that only 
a very keen eye will be able to find out how it was accomplished. 


Amherst, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please ask some of your readers if 
they can tell me whether Adam and Eve belonged to the Caucasian 
race, and, if not. the one they did belong to? I should like to know 
very much. I have tried in many ways to find out, but as yet I have 
not been able to. — Your constant reader, H. P. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Please tell Jack-in the-Pulpit that I saw in 
his October budget that sweet-potatoes and morning-glories are 
related to each other, and I have heard something that proves it. On 
the southern shoreof Lake Ontario, in the sandy soil, there grows a 
kind of wild morning-glory that has a root which looks like a small 
sweet-pot3to and tastes a good deal like one, too. — Your faithful 
reader, E. Frank W. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you about my bird. I read 
stories about cats, dogs, chickens, and nearly everything but birds. 
My bird's name is Charry, and when I let him out he will fly straight 

to my pin-cushion, pull all the pins out and throw them away. Then 
he will twist his cunnins little head and sing, as much as to say : " I 
love to get into mischief." — Good-bye, L. A. B. 

The following interesting letter comes from the junior editor of the 
" Petite Anse Amateur," the best amateur paper which we have seen. 
It is published on Petite Anse Island, Louisiana, once a month, and 
the number for November, 1879, contains twelve pages, three inches 
high by two inches wide, besides a supplement of eight extra pages. 
The paper is written, edited, and printed by boys and girls of from 
seven to fourteen years of age. Here is the letter; 

"' Jack-in-the-Pulpit,' in the October number nf St. Nicholas, 
wanted to know something about a curious reptile that one of his cor- 
respondents had written him of; so I have thought that I would tell 
him through this medium what I have ' seen with my eyes and heard 
with my ears.' 

" We have a glass-snake in Louisiana. Papa has one, in alcohol, 




that is twenty-seven inches long and five-eighths of an inch in diameter. 
1 ts head is smaller than its neck, lizard-like, and its back is light brown 
with white spots The sides are of dark brown, with two light-blue 
stripes dividing the brown into three stripes; underneath, it is an 
ashy while. These snakes are called glass-snakes because they are 
so brittle that when struck, even with a small switch, they break in 
two or more pieces below the vitals. The muscles in the one we have 
arc not over an eighth of an inch long, and they are dovetailed to- 
gether. The negroes believe that when the snake is broken, it has 
the power to re-unite the broken pieces; but this is not so. They 
have the same habits as the lizard, and are classed with them, feeding 
on insects. Although on the snake there are no indications of legs, 
yet in the skeleton the undeveloped legs are plainly visible. 

"The glass-snake is evidently the connecting link between the 
snake and lizard families, as it partakes of both natures. 

"J. A. Mel." 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have never written to you before, as I 
have always been rather afraid to, but I have finally done so. Will 
you please be so kind as to lell me in what book I can find out about 
the clouds, besides the physical geography? — I remain, respectfully, 

M. R. T. 

Professor Tyndal's book, called "The Forms of Water," 
you a great many interesting things about the clouds. 

will tell 

Dear St. Nicholas: I saw in the November number, directions 
for making hair-pin braid. I found it better to crochet toward the 
points of the hair-pin, instead of toward the bent end, as your direc- 
tions said; for, instead of taking the crochet-needle out of the loop, 
to turn the hair-pin, I only had to pass the needle between the ends 
of the hair-pin, so that, when the hair-pin was turned, the crochet- 
needle came next to me. When 1 had worked the hair-pin full, I 
pushed the braid off, and put on again only the last two loops, one 
on each side of the hair-pin, and went on crocheting as before. I kept 
the braid clean by wrapping paper about it — Your interested reader, 

;. o. b. 

In answer to H. F. H.'s question in the November " Letter-Box, " 
E. A. Kclley, Jr., quotes the Act of 1802. According to this, the son 
of a citizen of the United States, no matter in what other coun try the 
son may be born, is also a citizen of the United States, — that is, an 

Rutherford, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please ask your readers where 
"Maoris" is? Several of the larger scholars in our school, seeing it 
among other geographical names, became so interested as to search 
•each map in the geography ; but they could not find it. We do not 
know whether it is a bay, a town, a river, or a range of mountains. 
Hoping that some of your readers will find it and let me know, I 
remain, your interested reader, Geo. H. 

Old Year therein seats himself. 
Trying, vainly, not to laugh, 
As the New Year tucks him in, 
Picking up his hat and staff. 

' Take him very carefully ! 
Poor Old Year is dead and gone," 
Chants the New Year, to a tune 
That must surely be his own. 

'Autumn, cover him with leaves; 

Bring him roses, June and May," 

(All my flower-box goes on) 
' Winter, keep the wind away." 

Slowly the procession moves, 

Chubby Winter at the head, 
In my best umbrella hid, 
Save his little stockings red. 

Then, I really have to laugh, 
And, like sparrows at the sound 
Of the mother-birdie's voice, 
All the six come docking round. 

In the midst of noisy fun 

That would stronger nerves appall, 

With a hug, says Goldilocks, 

"Did you like your New Year call?' 

Dear St. Nicholas: H. M. M., in the October " Letter- Box,'* 
seems to think $24 a small price to pay for the island of Manhattan. 
But that $24, at 7 per cent, compound interest, would now amount, I 
think, to more than the value of all the real estate in the City and 
County of New York.— Yours very truly, John M. Stahl. 

B. F. says: " H. M. M.'s letter reminds me that it is not so very 
long ago since vessels used to sail from the Hudson River through 
Canal Street, New York, to a fresh-water pond in Center street, 
where the Tombs prison now stands. In 1877 there was a man liv- 
ing who remembered this very well. 

"Perhaps some of the ' Letter-Box ' readers may like to know how 
it was that Maiden Lane, a crooked little street in the very busiest 
part of New York city got its sentimental name? It was called 
' Maidens' Path ' at first, because it was the path which the city 
washerwomen took to reach a little stream of spring water that ran 
through the valley near by. From. ' Path ' to ' Lane ' was a very 
short step." 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write and tell you of a 
wonderful curiosity we have at home. It is a four-legged chicken. 
It walks on two of its legs, and holds the other two out behind. As 


Dear St. Nicholas : The bright holidays now on their way, 
remind me of an incident that brightened last New Year's morning 
for me. And so I send your children this little account of it, think- 
ing that some of them may like to carry out the idea in their own way 
and in their own homes. — Yours truly, Eve Lynn. 

In the early dawn I hear 

Childish whispers, faint and sweet, 

Merry laughter, quickly hushed, 

Pattering of little feet 

Presently a little knock : 
Then the door flies open wide! 
Like a lovely picture, stand 
Old and New Year, side by side. 

As he leans upon his staff, 
Old Year strokes his beard of snow; 
But beneath the quaint disguise 
Shine two bright eyes that I know. 

Old Year, kneeling, asks to stay; 
Begs the gift of one month more. 
New Year stamps his little foot, 
Points him sternly to the door. 

Says my little Goldilocks, 
" Go away, you Old Year, you ! 
We don't want you any more; 
You 're the Old Year, I 'm the New." 

Sundry giggles, heard outside, 
Spare the need of further knocks ; 
And the Seasons come in view, 
Bending 'neath the croquet-box. 

I am not very good at drawing, this is the best portrait I could make. 
The chicken has a very peculiar appearance when roosting, its two 
extra feet standing out behind it. — Truly yours, R. H. S. 

Dear St. Nicholas; In marking out designs, I have tried trac- 
ing the lines with a bad pencil, which obscures the design, so as to 
spoil it ; a small stick catches and jerks badly, a slate pencil tears the 
design ; and so I am at a loss what to use. — Your friend, 

W. L. S. 

A fine, smooth, steel or bone point should be used. Such points — 
— used by artists in transferring tracings, — are to be bought; but a 
smart boy might make one from a crochet needle, or something of 
the sort. 

Bric-a-Brac — The following is in answer to several inquiries 
about this word: The supplement to the latest edition of Webster's 
"Unabridged Dictionary" spells the term thus, "bric-a-brac," and 




defines it as "a miscellaneous collection, particularly ot" antiquarian 
or artistic curiosities." Bric-a-brac was originally French, and the 
highest two authorities in that language, — Littre's " Dictionary" and 
the " Dictionnaire de 1" Academic Franchise,"— give its meaning as 
"old and chance objects, such as cabinets, articles of old iron and 
copper, pictures, statuettes." Both dictionaries limit the familiar 
French use of the term to the trade title marehand de bric-a-brac, 
"dealer in bric-a-brac" perhaps translatable, too, as "marine-store 
dealer" and "junk merchant"; but neither of them points out 
decidedly the origin of the term, although each makes a reference to 
the common phrase de brie et de broc, as though it were believed to 
be related, in some un traced way, to biHc-a-brac. And this seems 
not unlikely; for the meaning of the phrase is, "from here and 
there," " by this means and that," "by hook and by crook " ; and, 
certainly, the stock in trade of a dealer in bric-a-brac, of whatever 
kind, is gathered "from here and there," '' by this means and that," 
and sometimes "by hook and by crook." 

and we have great fun playing it. We call it " Polo." Itis exactly 
like grown-up Polo, only without the horses. 

First of all, you measure about fifty feet on the sidewalk, and at 
each end drive two sticks (we generally use the handles of brooms, 
sawed off about two and a half feet from the top), set them in the 
ground about three feet apart, then find the middle of the ground 
(which will be twenty-five feet from either end) and draw a square, 
about six inches each way. Now you must choose sides, and each 
side must have a captain. You must each have a croquet mallet, 
and a croquet ball should be placed in the square above mentioned. 
Then a boy who is not playing must be chosen judge. He must take 
a stone and ask each side if they are ready If they answer " Yes," 
he must drop the stone, and then each party must run and try to get 
to the ball first and knock it through the goal, that is, between the two 
sticks on the enemies* side, thus winning the game. We think it is 
great, and I hope the readers of St. Nicholas will think so, too. 

From your friend and constant reader, F. E. B. 

P. S. — If the ball rolls into the road, the judge must cry, "Out- 
side." Then he must pick up the ball and put it back in the square, 
and the game begins again. 

Chicago, Ills. 

Pear St. Nicholas: I have made a collection of butterflies and 
moths this summer, and would like to learn about them. Will you 
please print in the next "Letter-Box" the name of some book that 
will tell me about them? I am eight years old, and my name is 


" Insect Lives; or Born in Prison," by Julia P. Ballard, a con- 
tributor to St. Nicholas, is a prettily illustrated book that tells a good 
deal very clearly, and in a very interesting way, about butterflies and 
moths. The book is published by Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati. 

Floy. — Send as many of the solutions of puzzles as you can. 
Your name will be put in the list, and against it the number of puz- 
zles you solve correctly. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write and tell about 
a game we play in the road. It is a game of our own invention, 

M. V. D. would like to know, through the " Letter-Box," what 
five words in the English language — it is said there are only five — end 
in cion. Who will tell her? 

Huben, Iselihal, Tyrol. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am nine years old, I live in California, 
but am traveling in Europe with my papa and mamma. 

We are in Tyrol, and Huben is a very pretty place. They have 
dreadful avalanches here. Last winter one came down near where 
we are staying, and carried away a house with five persons in it. 
They all were killed, but the goat and the cat were found alive. 
There are a great many crucifixes and statues of saints here. The 
people put them up by the roadside, and pray before them when 
passing by. They hope the crucifixes and statues will keep the 
avalanches off, and they are very good people, — all but one man. 
He put up a statue of St. Florian, but an avalanche came and carried 
off his field, leaving nothing but the image of the saint. He was so 
mad, he tore up the statue and cut it up into little pieces and threw 
it down where the avalanche went, which was very steep! — Your 
loving reader, Alice. 



In Silas, not in Fred; 

In Lucas, not in Ned; 

In Adam, not in Bill ; 

In Nathan, not in Will; 

In David, not in Sim; 

In Edgar, not in Tim; 

In Charlotte, not in Jane; 

Two things that always leave a stain. 

CYRIL deank. 



Comparisons: r. Positive, an entrance to a narrow lane; Com- 
parative, a reptile. 2. Compare like "much": Positive, a rabbit 
house ; Comparative, a kind of frost ; Superlative, a great company. 
3. Compare like '*good": Positive., a kind of fuel; Comparative, 
more moist; Superlative, a point of the compass. 4. Compare like 
"bad": Positive, past perfect of have; Comparative, a solemn 
vehicle; Superlative, an English name for a grove. 

Declensions: i. Decline like a pronoun of the first person : Sin- 
gular. — Nominative, purchase; Possessive, a vine or near; Object- 
ive, exist. Plural. — Nominative, an insect; Possessive, an arbor or 
arbors; Objective, a vehicle. 2. Decline like a pronoun of the second 
person: Plural. — Nominative, a tree; Possessive, a pitcher or 
pitchers ; Objective, a sheep. 3. Decline like a pronoun of the third 
person: Singular. — Nominative, a meadow; Possessive, a girl's 
nickname; Objective, a branch. Plural. — Nominative, a song; 
Possessive, a den ; Objective, a boy's name abbreviated. 

Principal Parts : Like the verb "go." — 1. Present, an exclama- 
tion ; Past, a fast ; Perfect, a grass plot. 2. Present, unbaked bread ; 
Past, a nick; Perfect, day-break. Like the verb "see." — 3. Present, 
a wharf; Past, a bird's note ; Perfect, acute. 4. Present, the shel- 
tered side ; Past, rule of action ; Perfect, to incline. 5. Present, an 
English river ; Past, a bird ; Perfect, a church official. 6. Present, a 

note of music: Past, a mouth ; Perfect, carriage of the person. Like 
the verb "fly." — 7. Present, elevated; Past, color; Perfect, a stone 
for sharpening, b. Present, ashes mixed with water; Past, a game 
of cards; Perfect, without company. 9. Present, belonging to me; 
Past, a kitten's cry; Perfect, a sound of pain. h. h. b. 


In this puzzle, the letter I occurs in each word forming the frame* 
at the place where the letter is set in the diagram. Of each upright 
word, the first letter is that which occurs in the sloping word where 
it touches an upright word. 


Left slope, reading upward: Entrancing. Right slope, reading 
downward: A fortress. Left upright: A high "round" number. 
Right upright : Government. Bottom, reading from left to right : To 
judge. t- G. h. 





back, crowd, deacon, furnace, 
■settle, smothe 

field, plough, safety, 
grade, wagon. Let- 


One f<\ggy day, a well- 
known bird went out for n 
walk with her husband. An 
express-train came along just 
as they were crossing the 
railroad, and, alas ! she lost 
her tail and he lost his head. 
Their remains being united, 
— she first and he next, — 

made another bird. What is this other bird's name 
find it illustrated in Webster's dictionary. 


i. A covering formerly worn on the head. 2. A prefi: 
name of a tribe of uncivilized Americans. 4. Smaller. 


The initials and finals of the words described in the folio win. 
lines, form two other words which suggest cake and mince pies : 

The first is governed by Victoria's hand. 
The next describes her far-obeyed command. 
The third is hard for fighting-men to be. 
Fourth is a shell-fish, floater on the sea. 
The fifth you must be every now and then. 
Sixth, of the Fast were wisest of wise men. 
Seventh is an acid of a common kind; 
And eighth, a number, ball-players call to mind. 


I have thirteen letters, and I mean appendages. My 1, 4, 12, 11 
is a vessel for carrying liquids. My 6, 10, 3, 5 is a stringed instru- 
ment of music. My 13, 8, 7, 9, 2 is a place where men contend for 
victory in athletic sports. ISOLA. 


Those who play the game of " Word-making and word-taking " 
know how satisfactory it is to draw from the pool a letter which will 
enable them to capture a word from the enemy, especially if he have 
the required "ten" words. Many a time one of his ten words 
might be taken with the letier dr;iwn, if his opponent only knew how 
to apply the letter. To show how to make use of the letter drawn, a 
little practice is here given in the shape of a puzzle. 

Suppose your opponent has the words, thug, fit, may, win, and you 
draw an R. Can you add it to any one of his words? You cannot 
turn his " may" into " Mary," because proper nouns are not allowed 
unless found in the body of Webster's dictionary. But you can turn 
it into "army" and appropriate it. If you had drawn an S you 
could not have taken a word by merely adding the S to make it 
plural, and you are not permitted to make a word into a past parti- 
ciple with a D, nor may you make compound words. These rules 
apply in this puzzle. 

Now, in each of the following examples are given the list of 
words your adversary has, and the letter drawn by you; and you are 
to discover which of his words you can capture. 

1. List of words, — curate, if, cow, roiling, he, boot Letter drawn, 

2. List, — waiter, bring, when, glad, lyre, much. Letter B. 

3. List, — fan, sand, bat, of, dream, laud, bishop. Letter C. 

4. List,- 
Letter D. 

5. List,- 
ter E. 

6 List, — leaf, leader, eke, site, terrace, butter. Letter F. 
7. List, — bee, tone, large, play, vex, peculiar, sweet, law. 
ter G. 

List, — bounty, many, fix, dray, stray, thirdly. Letter H. 

9. List, — minx, tribute, eve, fry, commerce, horse, cat, meed. 
Letter I. 

10. List, — currant, diet, stole, parcel, debt, fortune, sour Let- 
ter J. 

11. List, — off, theater, whole, fur, fair, mantle, grief, moon, noble. 
Letter K. 

12. List, — gig, bold, curd, theme, button, mongrel. Letter L 

13. List, — fool, crown, their, tool, no, virtue. Letter M. 

14. List, — gold, man, hymn, teeth, little, oars. Letter N. 

15. List, — bonnet, glove, it, stream, park, pieachers. Letter O. 

16. List,— brindle, tenement, 
-. roan, brown,, dentist. 

ter P. 

17. List, — true, blue, surely, 
purest, suit, suspense, tincture. 
Letter Q. 

18. List, — grindstone, obit, iota, 
go, judge, nectar, candid. Letter 

19. List, — stone, round, sharks, 
enough, lust, there, reasons. Let- 
ter S. 

20. List, — Loan, vow, wages, 
jute, tooth, enemy, totality. Let- 
ter T. 

21. List, — pipes, 
ing, between, ogre. 

guns, build- 
Letter TJ. 

22. List, — streets, truce, voice, tin, mug, perpetrate, adder. Let- 
ter V. 

23. List, — haste, modest, maiden, temperate, persecute, accuse. 
Letter W. 

24. List,— tent, value, nothing, inn, malice, courtesy, oval, yeast. 
Letter X. 

25. List, — bad, foe, smooth, mutter, want, future, remark. Letter 

26. List,— dreary, polar, bears, mere, shocking, occult. Letter 2. 



The base is a word of four letters, the name of a girl. In each of 
the following sentences, find concealed one of the words of the 
square : 

1. Tell Anna to call the harvesters, and have them make haste in 
to supper. 2. The mule appearing very mad — I hate a mad mule — 
I at once left his neighborhood. 

3. The lazy lad excused himself ; 

He had a mind to shirk. 

4. Said teacher, giving him a slap: 

"Excuse you? No, sir! Work!" 



Across: i. In open. 2. Part of a wheel. 3. A boy's name. 4. 
A drawing on cardboard. 5. A large screaming water-fowl. 6. An 
abbreviation of "mamma." 7. In any. 

Down, beginning at the left: 1. In ocean. 2. An interjection of 
surprise. 3. The home of a Turk's wives. 4. To set forth by lines 
or colors. 5. A wild evergreen shrub, with yellow, white or purple 
flowers. 6. At a distance, but within view. 7. In many. DYCIE. 





The answer is one word of nine letter', and is indicated by the 
largest picture in the illustration. Each of the small pictures repre- 
sents an object the name of which may be spelled from the letters of 
the answer. 


The sound of a word appropriate for the middle blank is to be so 
spelled as to fill the other blanks, and make sense. 

The natives of Java say that if the night under a 

tree, the result must be that away before morning 



"Essay on Criticism," and I 

fruit. My 10, 16, ir, 26 is a low cry of pain. My 8, 2, 4, 7, 21 is an 
herb-eating animal. My 22, 19, 24, 23, 12, 3 is godlike. My 5, 14, 
1 is to decay. isola. 


My first is rigid, formal, cold 

And never pleasing to behold. 

My second's fragrance fills the air 

When summer days are bright and fair. 

My whole h:is never had its birth 

Till gladsome Spring 'a returned to earth. c. L. 

I AM a line from Alexander Pope':; 
contain twenty-seven letters. 

My 20, 6, 17, 13, 9, 27 is moral excellence. 



Two Easy Diamonds. — I. 1. L. 2. SOd. 3. LoYal. 4. DAni. 
5. L. II. 1. M. 2. LAG. 3. MaGic. 4. Gin. 5. C. 

Pi. — In a primary school, not long ago, the teacher undertook to 
convey to her pupils an idea of the uses of the hyphen. She wrote 
on the blackboard, " Birds'-nests," and pointing to the hyphen asked 
the school: "What "s that for?" After a short pause a little chap 
piped out : " Please ma'am, that 's for the bird to roost on!" 

Difficult Transpositions. — 1. Any crest, ancestry. 2. Palli- 
ated, dial-plate. 3. Requisite, it is queer. 4. One dares, reasoned. 

Beheadings. — 1. T-Hames. 2. N-Early. 3. O-Ralty. 4. P- 
Layer. 5. R-Educe. 6. R-Elapse. Riddle. — Match-safe. 

Four Easy Square-Words.— 

pig owe ore orb 

i. ice ii. w h y iii. rob iv. roe 

gem eye ebb beg 

Cross-Word Enigma. — Stove. Easy Charade. — Seal-skin. 

Diagonal Puzzle. — 1. Condiment. 2. CHallenge. 3. MeRri- 
ment. 4. Satirical. 5. Satisfied. 6. ImposTure. 7. TradesMan. 
8. MatutinAl. y. LucidnesS. Christmas. 

Christmas Central Acrostic. — Children singing Christmas 
carols: 1. FaCcs; of the children. 2. AsHes; sprinkled by the usher. 
3. Spire; of church. 4. HoLly ; on arch of gate. 5. HeDge; in 
front of house 6. ApRon ; on little girl. 7. StEps; of church. 8. 

PaNes; of windows. 9. BaSes; of porch pillars. 10. Drift; of 

snow, by steps. 11. ViNes ; on church. 12. SiGns ; on fence. 13. 
Chink; in fence. 14. FeNce ; in front of hedge. 15. LiGht; on 

arch of gate. 16. LoCks; on gates- 17. UsHer ; sprinkling 

ashes. 18. GiRls ; singing. 19. Stick; in peddler's hand. 20. 
Va^es ; on the fence. 21. GaTes; of the fence. 22. LaMps; on 
the church. 23. FlAgs ; of sidewalk. 24. MuSic; in children's hands. 

25. PaCks; on peddler. 26. StArs; in the sky. 27. PoRcb; 

of the church. 28. CrOss; in porch gable. 29. BeLls; in the belfry. 
30. PoSts; of the fence. 

Douisle Acrostic — Santa-Claus. 1. SaranaC. 2. AbeL. 3. 
NiagarA. 4. TU. 5. AtlaS. 

Easy Metagram. — Romeo, Rome, more, ore, or, o. 

Word Syncopations. — 1. Ho-me-Iy. 2. A-mica-ble. 3. Di- 
um-al. 4. Ar-den-t. s- B-all-et. 6. Bon-fir-e. 

Scattered Square-Words. — 1. Ache, coil, hill, Ella. 2. Acid, 
care, iron, dent. 3. Cane, area, near, earl. 4. Chit, hare, iron, tent. 
5 Clad, lace, acre, deer. 6. Clan, lace, acre, need. 7. Dawn, area, 
wear, nard. 8. Hand, area, near, dart. 9. Halt, area, leer, tart. 10. 
Epic, pare, iron, cent. 11. Hail, acre, iron, lent. 12. Jade, area, 
dear, earl. 13. Jail, acre, iron, lend- 14. Wait, acre, iron, tend. 15 
What, hare, area, tear. 16. Wall, area, lead, lade. 

Picture Anagrams for Young Puzzlers. — 1. Archery, acherry. 
2. Tens, nest. 3. Wings, swing. 4. Roes, rose. 

Answers to Puzzles in the November number were received, before November 20, from The Blank Family, — Oulagiskit, — Bessie 
and her Cousin, — Mary L. Otis, all of whose solutions were correct ; and from John Smith, Jr., 1 — Willie F. Dix, 1 — Milly B. Cross, 1 — 
Helen M. Duncan, 2 — E. Farrington, 1 — Mary L, Shipman, 2 — Mamie M. Bumey, 1 — Mary L. Lamprey, 1 — Robert B. Salter, Jr., 3 — 
Edith Chase, 1 — Susie A. Kachline, 3 — M. McB., 1 — Charles Fitts, 5 — Ethel Bangs. 2 — Meta Moore, 5 — Mauch Chunk, 8 — Gertrude 
Spalding, 2 —Walter Dorset Parks, 1 — R. A. A., 1 — " Punch and Judy," 6 — No Name, 1 — "Scrub," 2 — Emma and Netta McCall, 2 — 
Carroll L. Maxcy, 5 — Grace Ashton Crosby, 13 — Charlie H. Jones, 1 — Nettie Conine, 2 — Nora O'Neil, 7 — Eleanor N. Hughes, 7 -Jennie 
W. Burritt, 2 —Marie Morris, 2 — Claire H. Pingrey, 9 — B. E. and H. E. Melvin, 2 — Sallie R. Marshall, t — Rufus B. Clark, 3— E. Frank 
Thompson, 1 — Bessie and Tommv Hotchkiss, 2 — Ida Muller, 2 — L. L. Van Liew, 2 — Lillian Baker, 4 — Gertrude H , 1 — Buttercup, 11 — 
Charles Sprague, 1 — Effie K. Talboys, 2 — Lizzie H. D. St Vrain, 6 — Alice G. Benedict, 5 — Helen Vaughn Cope, 1 — "Quintettes," 5 — 
Charlotte B. Serega, 1 — Elizabeth L. Hillegeist, 6 — Percy Crenshaw, 2 — Bessie C. Barney, 6 — Warren Wolfersberg^r, 5 — Mary Camp- 
bell Murdock, 10 — Julia Crofton, 6 — Jessie O. Woodruff, 2 — Lucy B. Shaw, 4 — " G. H.," 6 — Annie Reynes, 7 — Diamond and Pearl, 4 — 
J. Harry Anderson, 3 — J. H. Slade, Jr., 2 — Netta M. Van, 4 — Benjamin C. Brown, Jr., 7 — John V. L Pierson, 6 — Reta S. Mcllvaine, 
10 — F. C. O, 3 — Florence Wilcox, 12 — Ida Cohn, 6 — Allen T. Treadway, 10 — Jim Crow, 6 — Thomas Harwood, 1 — Frances, Margaret, 
and Russell, 2 — Vee Cornwell, 7 — Bella Wehl, 8 — Bertha Potts, 6 — Lillie Burling, 5 — Emmie J. Allen and Anna R. Jackson, 6 — J. W. 
Yocura, 2 — Nellie Kellogg, 5 — Arthur P. Summers, 4 — No Name, 7 — Marion and Henry, 4 — Willie B. Geery, 6 — Eva and Ada Dolton, 
4 — Theodore Potts, 3 —Morris Turk, 2 — Russel Duane, 6 — H. F. W., 3 — Edward Vultee, 13 — Pumble and Sam, 3 — Cousins, 10 — A. E. 
D. St John, 9— "Riddlers," 5— Bessie S. Works, 1 — H. W. Blake, 9— Edith W. Hamlin and May H. Weston, 8— Elvie Johnson, 7 — 
Harkaway, and Sister, 4 — Eddie Gwynne, 1 — Harry C. Crosby, 2 — Philip Sidney Carlton, 7 — Robert Allen Gaily, 6 — H. Toumade, 1 — 
U. Jacobi, 11 — Susie Sipe, 11 — Daisy and Harold, 4 — David A. Center, 2 — Will, 1 — Georgie and Carlton Woodruff, 4 — Lloyd M. Scott, 
9 — Jos. Van Doren, 4 — Anna K. Phelps, 14 — Nellie DeGraff, 10 — Perry Beattie, 3 — "Three Guessers," 11 — H. J. Tiley, 12 — Kitty C. 
Atwater ? 6 — Rob Bowles, 3 — Edith Grace Bristow, 1 — Laura H. and Charles D. Napier, ic — Emma Maxwell, 5 — "Apple Blossom," 
6 — Jessie I. Upham, 7 — M. J. G. and H. L. C, 5— Annie M C, and Louis L. C, 12 — No Name, 12 — Kate Higson, 2 — "Impatience," 
12 — Bessie Taylor, 5 — Jennie Mondschein, 3 — " Winnie," 9 — R. Kelly, 3 — Charlie W. Power, 4 — Harry M. Norris, 6. The numerals 
denote the number of puzzles solved. 

Answers to J. D. L.'s Puzzle in November "Letter-Box" were received, before November 20, from E. Farrington, — Bessie, — Emma 
and Netta McCall, — Anna Houghton, — " Pumble and Sam" — Annie E. St. John. 



(See Letter-Box. ) 


Vol. VII. FEBRUARY, 1880. No. 4. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 

By Alfred Tennyson. 


Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander ? 

Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells ? 
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, 
"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones, 

Roses and lilies and Canterbury -bells." 

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? 

Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours ? 
" Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, 
"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis, 

Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers." 


MINNIE and Winnie Sleep, little ladies ! 

Slept in a shell. Wake not soon ! 

Sleep, little ladies ! Echo on echo 

And they slept well. Dies to the moon. 

Pink was the shell within, Two bright stars 

Silver without ; Peep'd into the shell. 

Sounds of the great sea " What are they dreaming of? 

Wander'd about. Who can tell ? " 

Started a green linnet 

Out of the croft ; 
Wake, little ladies, 

The sun is aloft ! 

Vol. VII.— 20. 




By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter V. 


There were a great many clubs in Harmony 
village, but as we intend to interest ourselves with 
the affairs of the young folks only, we need not 
dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the 
elders. In summer, the boys devoted themselves 
to base ball, the girls to boating, and all got rosy, 
stout and strong, in these healthful exercises. In 
winter, the lads had their debating club, the lasses 
a dramatic ditto. At the former, astonishing bursts 
of oratory were heard; at the latter, everything was 
boldly attempted, from Romeo and Juliet to Mother 
Goose's immortal melodies. The two clubs fre- 
quently met and mingled their attractions in a 
really entertaining manner, for the speakers made 
good actors, and the young actresses were most 
appreciative listeners to the eloquence of each bud- 
ding Demosthenes. 

Great plans had been afoot for Christmas or 
New Year, but when the grand catastrophe put an 
end to the career of one of the best "spouters," 
and caused the retirement of the favorite 1; singing 
chambermaid," the affair was postponed till Feb- 
ruary, when Washington's birthday was always 
celebrated by the patriotic town, where the father 
of his country once put on his night-cap, or took off 
his boots, as that ubiquitous hero appears to have 
done in every part of the United States. 

Meantime, the boys were studying Revolution- 
ary characters, and the girls rehearsing such 
dramatic scenes as they thought most appropriate 
and effective for the 22nd. In both of these at- 
tempts they were much helped by the sense and 
spirit of Ralph Evans, a youth of nineteen, who 
was a great favorite with the young folks, not only 
because he was a good, industrious fellow, who 
supported his old grandmother, but also full of 
talent, fun, and ingenuity. It was no wonder every 
one who really knew him liked him, for he could 
turn his hand to anything, and loved to do it. If 
the girls were in despair about a fire-place when 
acting " The Cricket on the Hearth," he painted 
one, and put a gas-log in it that made the kettle 
really boil, to their great delight. If the boys 
found the interest of their club flagging, Ralph 
would convulse them by imitations of the " Mem- 
ber from Cranberry Center," or fire them with 
speeches of famous statesmen. Charity fairs could 

not get on without him, and in the store where he 
worked he did many an ingenious job, which made 
him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for 
his energy and integrity. 

Mrs. Minot liked to have him with her sons, be- 
cause they also were to paddle their own canoes 
by and by, and she believed that, rich or poor, 
boys make better men for learning to use the 
talents they possess, not merely as ornaments, but 
tools with which to carve their own fortunes ; 
and the best help toward this end is an example of 
faithful work, high aims, and honest living. So 
Ralph came often, and in times of trouble was a 
real rainy-day friend. Jack grew very fond of him 
during his imprisonment, for the good youth ran 
in every evening to get commissions, amuse the 
boy with droll accounts of the day's adventures, or 
invent lifts, bed-tables, and foot-rests for the im- 
patient invalid. Frank found him a sure guide 
through the mechanical mysteries which he loved, 
and spent many a useful half-hour discussing cylin- 
ders, pistons, valves, and balance-wheels. Jill also 
came in for her share of care and comfort; the 
poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion 
Ralph got her, and the weary headaches found 
relief from the spray atomizer, which softly distilled 
its scented dew on the hot forehead till she fell 

Round the beds of Jack and Jill met and mingled 
the school-mates of whom our story treats. Never, 
probably, did invalids have gayer times than our 
two, after a week of solitary confinement, for school 
gossip crept in, games could not be prevented, 
and Christmas secrets were concocted in those 
rooms till they were regular conspirators' dens, 
when they were not little Bedlams. 

After the horn and bead labors were over, the 
stringing of pop-corn on red, and cranberries on 
white, threads came next, and Jack and Jill often 
looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs 
hung about them, till reeled off to bide their time in 
the Christmas closet. Paper flowers followed, and 
gay garlands and bouquets blossomed, regardless of 
the snow and frost without. Then there was a 
great scribbling of names, verses, and notes to ac- 
company the steadily increasing store of odd parcels 
which were collected at the Minots', for gifts from 
every one were to ornament the tree, and contribu- 
tions poured in as the day drew near. 

* Copyright. All rights reserved. 

I 88o.J 



But the secret which most excited the young 
people was the deep mystery of certain proceedings 
at the Minot house. No one but Frank, Ralph, 
and mamma knew what it was, and the two boys 
nearly drove the others distracted by the tanta- 
lizing way in which they hinted at joys to come, 
talked strangely about birds, went measuring 'round 
with foot-rules, and shut themselves up in the 
Boys' Den, as a certain large room was called. 
This seemed to be the center of operations ; but, 
beyond the fact of the promised tree, no ray of 
light was permitted to pass the jealously guarded 
doors. Strange men with paste-pots and ladders 
went in, furniture was dragged about, and all 
sorts of boyish lumber were sent up garret and 
down cellar. Mrs. Minot was seen pondering over 
heaps of green stuff, hammering was heard, singu- 
lar bundles were smuggled upstairs, flowering plants 
betrayed their presence by whiffs of fragrance when 
the door was opened, and Mrs. Pecq was caught 
smiling all by herself in a back bedroom, which 
usually was shut up in winter. 

"They are going to have a play, after all, and 
that green stuff was the curtain," said Molly Loo, 
as the girls talked it over one day, when they sat 
with their backs turned to one another, putting last 
stitches in certain bits of work which had to be con- 
cealed from all eyes, though it was found convenient 
to ask one another's taste as to the color, materials, 
and sizes of these mysterious articles. 

" I think it is going to be a dance. I heard the 
boys doing their steps when I went in last evening 
to find out whether Jack liked blue or yellow best, 
so I could put the bow on his pen-wiper," declared 
Merry, knitting briskly away at the last of the pair 
of pretty white bed-socks she was making for Jill 
right under her inquisitive little nose. 

" They would n't have a party of that kind with- 
out Jack and me. It is only an extra nice tree, 
you see if it is n't," answered Jill from behind the 
pillows, which made a temporary screen to hide 
the toilet mats she was preparing for all her 

" Every one of you is wrong, and you 'd better 
rest easy, for you wont find out the best part of it, 
try as you may." And Mrs. Pecq actually 
chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of 
muslin, with her back turned to the very unsocial- 
looking group. 

" Well, I don't care, we 've got a secret all our 
own, and wont ever tell, will we ? " cried Jill, fall- 
ing back on the Home Missionary Society, though 
it was not yet begun. 

"Never!" answered the girls, and all took 
great comfort in the idea that one mystery would 
not be cleared up, even at Christmas. 

Jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had 

suggested a new dining-room where he could eat 
with the family, a private school in which his les- 
sons might go on with a tutor, or a theater for the 
production of the farces in which he delighted. 

" It is going to be used to keep something in 
that you are very fond of," said mamma, taking 
pity on him at last. 

" Ducks ? " asked Jack, with a half pleased, half 
puzzled air, not quite seeing where the water was 
to come from. 

Frank exploded at the idea, and added to the 
mystification by saying: 

" There will be one little duck and one great 
donkey in it." 

Then fearing he had told the secret, he ran off, 
quacking and braying derisively. 

"It is to be used for creatures that I, too, am 
fond of, and you know neither donkeys nor ducks 
are favorites of mine," said mamma, with a demure 
expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for 
the bundles that always went to poor neighbors, 
with a little store of goodies, at this time of the 

" 1 know ! I know ! It is to be a new ward for 
more sick folks, is n't it, now?" cried Jack, with 
what he thought a great proof of shrewdness. . 

" I don't see how I could attend to many more 
patients till this one is off my hands," answered 
mamma, with a queer smile, adding quickly, as if 
she, too, was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag : 
" That reminds me of a Christmas I once spent 
among the hospitals and poor-houses of a great 
city with a good lady who, for thirty years, had 
made it her mission to see that these poor little 
souls had one merry day. We gave away two 
hundred dolls, several great boxes of candy and 
toys, besides gay pictures, and new clothes to 
orphan children, sick babies, and half-grown inno- 
cents. Ah, my boy, that was a day to remember 
all my life, to make me doubly grateful for my 
blessings, and very glad to serve the helpless and 
afflicted, as that dear woman did." 

The look and tone with which the last words 
were uttered effectually turned Jack's thoughts 
from the great secret, and started another small 
one, for he fell to planning what he would buy 
with his pocket-money to surprise the little Pats 
and Biddies who were to have no Christmas tree. 

Chapter VI. 


"Is it pleasant?" was the question Jill asked 
before she was fairly awake on Christmas morning. 

"Yes, dear; as bright as heart could wish. 
Now eat a bit, and then I '11 make you nice for the 
day's pleasure. I only hope it wont be too much 




for you," answered Mrs. Pecq, bustling about, 
happy, yet anxious, for Jill was to be carried over 
to Mrs. Minot's, and it, was her first attempt at 
going out since the accident. 

It seemed as if nine o'clock would never come, 
and Jill, with wraps all ready, lay waiting in a fever 
of impatience for the doctor's visit, as he wished to 
superintend the moving. At last he came, found 
all promising, and having bundled up his small 
patient, carried her, with Frank's help, in her 
chair-bed to the ox-sled, which was drawn to the 
next door, and Miss Jill landed in the Boys' Den 
before she had time to get either cold or tired. 
Mrs. Minot took her things off with a cordial wel- 
come, but Jill never said a word, for, after one ex- 
clamation, she lay staring about her, dumb with 
surprise and delight at what she saw. 

The great room was entirely changed ; for now 
it looked like a garden, or one of the fairy scenes 
children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors are 
pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale blue, 
like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like 
a rustic trellis, up which climbed morning glories so 
naturally that the many-colored bells seemed danc- 
ing in the wind. Birds and butterflies flew among 
them, and here and there, through arches in the 
trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer 
world, contrasting curiously with the wintry land- 
scape lying beyond the real windows, festooned 
with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by 
stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered 
the floor like grass, rustic chairs from the garden 
stood about, and in the middle of the room a hand- 
some hemlock waited for its pretty burden. A 
Yule log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the 
chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words 
that set all hearts to dancing, " Merry Christmas !" 

" Do you like it, dear ? This is our surprise for 
you and Jack, and here we mean to have good 
times together," said Mrs. Minot, who had stood 
quietly enjoying the effect of her work. 

" Oh, it is so lovely I don't know what to say ! " 
and Jill put up both arms, as words failed her, and 
grateful kisses were all she had to offer. 

" Can you suggest anything more to add to the 
pleasantness?" asked the gentle lady, holding the 
small hands in her own, and feeling well repaid by 
the child's delight. 

" Only Jack," and Jill's laugh was good to hear, 
as she glanced up with merry, yet wistful eyes. 

" You arc right. We '11 have him in it at once, 
or he will come hopping on one leg," and away 
hurried his mother, laughing, too, for whistles, 
shouts, thumps, and violent demonstrations of all 
kinds had been heard from the room where Jack 
was raging with impatience, while he waited for his 
share of the surprise. 

Jill could hardly lie still when she heard the roll 
of another chair-bed coming down the hall, its 
passage enlivened with cries of " Starboard ! Port ! 
Easy now ! Pull away ! " from Ralph and Frank, 
as they steered the recumbent Columbus on his 
first voyage of discovery. 

" Well, I call that handsome ! " was Jack's ex- 
clamation, when the full beauty of the scene burst 
upon his view. Then he forgot all about it and 
gave a whoop of pleasure, for there beside the fire 
was an eager face, two hands beckoning, and Jill's 
voice crying, joyfully : 

" I 'm here ! I 'm here ! Oh, do come, quick !" 

Down the long room rattled the chair, Jack 
cheering all the way, and brought up beside the 
other one, as the long-parted friends exclaimed, 
with one accord : 

" Is n't this jolly ! " 

It certainly did look so, for Ralph and Frank 
danced a wild sort of fandango round the tree, 
Dr. Whiting stood and laughed, while the two 
mothers beamed from the door-way, and the chil- 
dren, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, 
compromised the matter by clapping their hands 
and shouting, "Merry Christmas to everybody !" 
like a pair of little maniacs. 

Then they all sobered down, and the busy ones 
went off to the various duties of the day, leaving 
the young invalids to repose and enjoy themselves 

" How nice you look," said Jill, when they had 
duly admired the pretty room. 

" So do you," gallantly returned Jack, as he 
surveyed her with unusual interest. 

They did look very nice, though happiness was 
the principal beautifier. Jill wore a red wrapper, 
with the most brilliant of all the necklaces spark- 
ling at her throat, over a nicely crimped frill her 
mother had made in honor of the day. All the 
curly black hair was gathered into a red net, and 
a pair of smart little moccasins covered the feet 
that had not stepped for many a weary day. Jack 
was not so gay, but had made himself as fine as 
circumstances would permit. A gray dressing- 
gown, with blue cuffs and collar, was very becom- 
ing to the blonde youth ; an immaculate shirt, 
best studs, sleeve-buttons, blue tie, and handker- 
chief wet with scent and sticking out of the breast- 
pocket, gave an air of elegance in spite of the 
afghan spread over the lower portions of his manly 
form. The yellow hair was brushed till it shone, 
and being parted in the middle, to hide the black 
patch, made two engaging little "quirls " on his fore- 
head. The summer tan had faded from his cheeks, 
but his eyes were as blue as the wintry sky, and 
nearly every white tooth was visible as he smiled 
on his partner in misfortune, saying cheerily : 


;8 5 

" I 'm ever so glad to see you again ; guess we 
are over the worst of it now, and can have good 
times. Wont it be fun to stay here all the while, 
and amuse one another ? " 

" Yes, indeed ; but one day is so short ! It will 
be stupider than ever when I go home to-night," 
answered Jill, looking about her with longing 

" But you are not